Interim

The night was made for rest and sleep, For winds that softly sigh; It was not made for grief and tears; So then why do I cry?

The wind that blows through leafy trees Is soft and warm and sweet; For me the night is a gracious cloak To hide my soul’s defeat.

Just one dark hour of shaken depths, Of bitter black despair-- Another day will find me brave, And not afraid to dare.