"For his gloves, sixteen hob-goblin skins were used, and those of three werewolves for the trimming."
So that really was my last swim.
I think back to when my mother,
My wife, my father were young ghosts.
It's not how long you lived that counts
In that world. How long you've been dead
Is your age. I won't come back here,
I'm afraid. I'll never come back,
A free man, to swim in this lake.
And that's okay. Everything is
Okay in the world of young ghosts,
No one getting any younger
Except when, like ridiculous
Giants spun from breviary
Flasks, we're allowed to start over.
Next nonexistence! Now, begin.