Freya, when times are slow and worshippers few,
Takes psychopomp contracts, carriaging souls
To those realms of the dead which still have open slots.
For reasons long forgotten, her carriage --
It's a springless cart, actually -- is pulled by cats
Who never listen to her or to anyone
Except each other. The cart spends hours
Standing in pools of sunlight. When it moves
It moves so slowly, weighted with dozing souls,
That it's easy to hop on as it ambles by.
If you're not particular about where you're going
It will get you there.
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