In the old language of court documents,
A plaintiff prays, “Judge, give relief to me,”
Not in a church, not on bent knee,
And the prayer is a speech to the jury.
“I pray you, hear me out,” the filer says
And the rain starved leaves of summer hear,
“I come tonight to find a way lit clear,”
And the warm moon from cloudy night may peer.
The loneliness of evening welcomes all
Summer evening jury crickets sing,
And passerby birds swing
Into earshot for this human prayer.
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