When does the waiting end, my Willow?
As the breeze blows gently through the tides of time,
As the Sun rises dutifully beyond the plains,
I wait, patiently, for that day to unfold.
There are those moments,
Intense longing through the rhythm of love,
The stoic stone harbored deep within my soul,
Cracks…
Dusty refuse falls, lost in the abyss.
One day, if I am lucky,
I will look at my wrinkled hands,
And wonder where the time has gone,
Seeking just a minute more with you,
My heart not wanting our moment to reach its end.
And I will look back upon the Spring breezes,
Spent alone, talking to the trees,
Time well spent,
But not with the tree I love the most,
Perhaps then I shall curse the solitude.
Then a memory of the Summer dreams,
Left unanswered as I beat the drum alone,
Dusted chills running down my aching flesh,
As the rain washed the sweat from my brow,
I hum a song meant for your ear alone.
The Autumn comes,
And the rusty leaves scatter in the chilling wind,
Squirrels gathering hope for their winter stores,
I seek the warmth of a fire lit by your eyes,
But, alas, I find the embers of hopes yet to be realized.
And then, the winter returns,
A single set of footprints in the snow,
A heart drawn with purpose on a settled stone,
A lone finger etching truth upon her flesh,
Repeating the mantra as though it was his own…
…Patience.