Let me be asleep and free, borne up in the arms of the Willow Tree,
floating on in ship or drawn by boughs over stream without eyes for dawn.
Light my way where playful fey disguised as fireflies spring onto the bay.
Here no wraith in nightmare waits; no starved tormenter may claw past the Gate.
Castle looms seaside, with rooms of silver stars and night skies caught in blooms.
Pools too clear to rob, my dear, mystical creatures of their mirth or cheer
find inside solace to hide, their well-kept secrets not stolen nor spied.
Sleep that can bear mortal man to reams of Faerie, can you waking ban?
In homage to George MacDonald, particularly his novel Phantastes, most specifically chapter XI. If you haven't had the good fortune to read any of his work, do. It will change how you see death permanently.