Minds drift into sleep, beyond intelligible matter,
past wood wind call and tree converse
into a drifting zone where no tongues utter
where thoughts and words and sense disperse,
then minds flow on like silent water
into still ponds where dreams rehearse.

If these be a portal to a further state
less gross than this which I shall enter,
please accept my soul in that estate,
though wash it well in heaven`s water,
whether that be soothing balm or devastating.
Let it be prepared for old reunions;
may they be sociable and merry making
open to life, and new horizons,
one behind another, beckoning.