Tonight the stars are sleeping.
They fold their hands
and bend their bands
given to unconscious weeping.
The orange moon mourns.
Hard created craters,
warm light abaters,
fill with a shadow shorn.
Owls and howls are wordless.
Holding in breath,
waiting out death.
The iced air is mirthless.
Yet the sun will rise tomorrow.
The dregs tonight,
the bitter fight,
will be relieved of their sorrow.
Dark will be wretched away.
Drudging swarms
and bitter forms
will all be allayed.
Thank You for the darkness of night.
Dance and songs
can be in throngs
with the smallest hope of Your light.
Thanks to Joanna and Barbara for this Saturday's inspiration.
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