Not coins of silver, nor gold, nor platinum,
Are accepted as passage by somber Charon,
Who rules the coasts of Styx and Acheron.
His grisly conditioned outstretched hands
Take not but copper to ferry from those pitch sands.
Only those who have kissed obol with cold blue lips
Can board the grisly-hull which over shadow slips,
Of the psychopomp son of Erebos and Nyx,
The ferryman of ghosts across the river Styx.
Kin to Thantos and Hypnos, death and sleep,
Guardian and guide for those who gravely weep,
Carrying away those furloughed souls,
Over waters only navigable by his long pole.
Grey eyed and of keen gaze,
The one who sees through the deathly haze,
Where others having met their doom
See no horizon only fog of gloom.
Psyche he bears on skiff most stable,
Toward that dominion of Hades so sable.
Hail, shepherd of souls over waters raven
Bearer of spirits to the grey safe haven.
