Sympathies

My greatest sympathies to the 

Night, who must come after the

Day, and whose dark cloak gives her 

Ill name, while her mallumined corridors 

Harbor a heterogeneous heaven, but not

Unkind; 

Whose sounds signal sleep, the dreams we all 

Need-- yet whose shadows chaperon nightmares,

Steadfast steward to unrest, companion, friend;

Caretaker of the care-worn, playing

Host to deeds of Hate, unhappily. 

My greatest sympathies to the Night, by whose

watch we are healed, whose defamation breeds our

Noblesse, who does bear the cross before man's new

Breath, who turns our ingratitude to light--

Yes, my greatest sympathies to the Night.