Those that tend fires require

A special form of patience

Watching through the window, winter-long

 

While the rain streaks; patience of a saint

 

Then, after bare grey days, at last

Catkins on branches unfurl daily until

The stumbling bee finally arrives

 

Late and cold like the spring at last

 

And the badger comes at night, or dusk

Rooting up the garden, from dark woods behind;

With patience to stay wakeful, and the stamina

 

You may glimpse its fleeting stripes by moonlight

 

Patience can make time pass quick or slow

Reconciling, days go by, like a pack of cards

Being shuffled and cut, and shuffled again

 

Jokers are always wild, spread out the deck

 

Red queen on black king; as pastimes go

It’s right up there with watching drying paint

Or having faith that things will ever change

 

Carry your cards, clock in, clock out, clock off

 

Have patience, they say; spring is coming -

It will come; it always does, sit tight

And tend your fire, and cultivate your garden

 

Long green spring evenings, now it’s light

 

But I was always better at starting fires

Than tending them, never saw the point

Of patience as a virtue (or a vice)

 

It’s not as if there’s ever any option…

 

Just sit there, and be a little patient

Tending your fire, not getting rash, taking your meds

In case your ever-coursing arteries harden

 

One day, if you’re patient, things may better!

One day, a lifetime’s end away from now.

Watch and learn, boy, watch and learn;

Life is what happens while you’re being patient.