Patience is waiting for profound timing.

Patience is gathering the seconds, minutes,

Hours, and days.

Patience holds up her ears,

Straining for the faint whistle to start.

Patience looks at her hands,

Wrinkled yet wise at the fingers.

Patience doesn’t stamp her feet.

She stands silently, unfettered.

Patience waits for the morning,

The afternoon, the evening and night.

She accumulates it all,

Stirring together a hodgepodge of moments.

Patience comes to everyone,

But only a few know its eternal gifts.

When the time is ready,

Patience becomes action and movement,

But not a moment before then.


© 2017 Valerie Hathaway

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