Dream history

A child, I diced with death on many a night:
I raced, as beasts pursued me, eyes aflame;
or fell from rotten tree at giddy height;
or fought against some monster without name.

In later years I floated, free as air,
above the streets of my familiar town.
A dream-town this, austere beyond compare,
and I omnipotent in magic gown.

And now, perhaps a consequence of age,
old friends – alive and dead alike – the cast
in genial dramas acted on the stage
of strange adventures. All end well at last!

When I am dead, the thought occurs to me,
shall I continue in this coterie?

A Shakespearian-style sonnet, a bit short of Shakespearian quality.