Beyond the dark rivers, upon my shadowed shore,
do the men of Troy set their feet and whisper hushed fears
that they are soon to pass into my realm,
And upon stepping upon my threshold, they do meet my hound.

And he barks, happily, for he knows that my guests have arrived.
The fangs sharp and glistening, relax into a lop eared grin,
and the affection of scent, familiarity and warmth run to greet
the weary traveler, with feet coated with clay and sand.

Come into my hall, sons of Troy. Set your head upon a cushion.
For it is now yours, and I share what bounty I have,
with those that have paid fairly the ferryman.
Worry not of what is to come tomorrow, for now you rest.

Come too, sons of Greece. Come Achilles, for while the fields beckon,
they are a lonely place, full not of your fellow man but of shades of heroes.
And heroes are a greedy lot, who abuse my animals, and rob my halls.
Not only my halls, but yours too, should you put down your glory to seek them.

Listen to the songs. Hear the music. For Orpheus is here with his beloved.
See the games, feel the heat, for what we have there is of our own deeds.
Learn, love, and be, for the shades of man and woman are still human.
And I, whose lot determined my station, am content with such pleasures.

Many have started the journey to my halls, with naught but the arms looted
from the still smoldering battlefield. Perhaps they'll find a money changer
upon the path to turn such things to the coin that many here have robbed
from the treasuries and purses of the Troy that was.

For those who have not, I send my animals to aid their journey.
A bird to lighten the steps. A fly to wake the mind.
A dog to snarl and hasten the reluctant traveler upon his path.
And a rat, to seek the small and hidden gifts that have been thrown by the wayside.

Come to my library, for no knowledge that is mine shall be denied the shade.
Work free from your life's imperfections, for we have all eternity before us,
and it is a quick and light thing to pay the debts of life.
In time, even the worst thirst shall be slaked and all wicked kings shall be kind.

Forgive my melancholy. My wife is to return to the earth once more,
paving the road to my home as she goes, a single stone at a time.
Easier and quicker the road becomes as she works, and the halls echo
with the workmen who build for the new arrivals.

I do not dream of a time when all will be mine, for where would come the new songs?
Each guest upon my doorstep is welcome for their life is a new tale for the throng.
And we hear them all, so often. The same refrains again and again.
As time grows on they become the same, and I groan at the repetition.

Oh men of Greece and Troy, I pour a cup for you all and place it upon my table.
Sup, and as you find your refreshment tell me of your story,
Tell me not of the stories of great heroes, for that I can hear any day.
For all are heroes in their own dreams.

Be welcome.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-c6GphpAeY]