The judge's chair lies silent, still,
Though petitioners crowd the hall.
Out the door their whispers spill,
But the bailiff makes no call.

There justice is not blind, but mute;
And truth holds not the key,
But the dawn remains resolute,
Through night's long treachery.

The light deferred is not unmade,
Though often it may seem to be,
For shadows go where they are bade,
Living only in light's lee.

-Grek Lockwood