Nearer to the midnight hour
Than thee,
My ship sinking neath lids of iron,
I lay me down and entrust my soul
To the muses,
The Gods of Poetry and Art,
My poems to keep.

Tuck me in, kiss my forehead,
They smile knowingly.

I ask in the slow, punctuated,
Indistinct voice
Of drowsy,
"Will I see you tomorrow?"

They reply:

"Soon we shall meet again
In dreams most colorful,
Whether in this world,
Or the next,
T'is another's choice,
All is chance."

*Then they soft whispered:
But new poems will lie by your side,
Pillowed beneath thy head,
Guardians and Friends,
Wherever, Whenever.
For once a poet,
A poet forever.

So journey on,
Good Night To You,
Our child."