Babette Deutsch





Insufficiency

What though the moon pours restlessness? 
The stars in unison are uttering peace. 
The trees are shapes of stillness that no wind, 
No birdy shift, rouses from their dark trance. 
If there's a soul of stature to address 
The night's hugeness, it asks no release. 
But one that is ragged, one that is lame and blind 
Shudders to hear the silent heavens dance.