River Styx

In pale moon light
by river’s dark edge
awaits the ferryman.
In right hand’s grasp
An ancient oar rests,
Used and worn it
Shines with lost runes.

By the creaking boat
Lay a sack of gold on
The jagged shore.
Undisturbed by prying
Hands for who would
Ever steal from the
Ferryman of the river
Styx.

Two copper coins,
Two silver coins,
It matters not
For any two coins
Grants passage,
But alas there shall
Never be a return.