Patience

by

Rick Bandy

I can wait.

I’ve cultivated that virtue.
Pruned and watered till,
like a prize bloom I wear
as a crest on my jerkin,
my patience is long.
A silken restraining hand
on my sleeve,
the whisper in my ear
that all good things will come
if only I am willing to wait.
If only I resist
the fool’s urge to rush.

Yet, in the early light,
the soft morning, heavy-lidded
moments before the day starts,
freed from the clutter of life,
I glance at my virtuous escort,
my patience.
And I know her then by another name.
She is procrastination
and the hour is suddenly
very late.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Isle of Heartbreak
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

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