Many Faces Of Waiting Poem by shimon weinroth

Serve, Help, Attend, Bide or Abide

is part of what I do
most every day
then, knowing best
I am not master
of my time

oh, how I abhor
some of those moments,
hours days
of confine, then
acquiesce and whine

often, surrendering ungracefully
complain, and plan
not to submit again,
if I can help it
find, another way

alas we come into this world
borne of the womb,
having waited
nigh on nine months
crying, let me be

standing in line
or queing up
a part of life
and social strife
a test of patience

accepting hierarchy
of physical crowding
is our legacy
surviving is our story
tolerance its solution,

alas one is inherited
the other learned
if at all,
a virtue
admired and esteemed

makes waiting easier

there are other faces
not thrust upon us
but of choice to
await, attend
and serve

a most holy cause
a helping hand
an act of aid
a friendly deed
without repay or display,

sometimes the interim
is that much sweeter
having stayed the course
relished the moments
during and before

this too is what I do,
most every day
and find no reason
or reason
to complain,

eases my pain,
serving the sick and infirm,
waiting on,
a music
of a different nature

I hear the tones
and notes, the thrill
of empathy
the trill of sympathy,
bringing tears

both stinging
and caressing
soothing the soul
my psyche
transports me
to a world more sublime,

oh let me
curl up
in your lap
await
my time