Psalm

The stars laugh at me

The distant timbre of their voices

Bells through space

And haunts my night.

My great pain

That makes cold all the realm of sky

Is not enough

To bring their notice.

The moths fly by, not touched

And even my own mind

Makes light

Of my constant dread.

But you–across what spaces?

Can tell the chillness of the night

And know my futile thought,

My child fright

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