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AWAITING THE BUS.
What is it holds you back, oh clock?
Your slow ticking becomes more slack,
drags endlessly while I stand and rock
my son's pushchair. At my back
my daughter screams out her frustration
at this tiresome immobility,
while I shame at such a demonstration
before by-passing humanity.
Time will for no man wait
but man must often wait for time.
It will not speed its measured gait
nor precipitate its hourly chime.
The quarter hour seems never ending,
twice its length, and still no sign
or sight of that conveyance wending
its way uphill. I must resign
myself to patience, so I stand
and watch the scurrying crowds go by.
My daughter tugs me by the hand.
"Why won't it come?" I hear her cry.
Her brother then becomes infected
with her restless attitude.
The minutes make him more dejected
at this enforced lassitude,
until his energy he can contain
no longer, so he stands and tries
to descend his pram, the ashphalt gain,
and in his eager haste denies
all caution, landing with a crash
upon the pavement giving forth
a shrill scream. My teeth I gnash
In frustration and impotent wrath.
Then at last I sight the bus
at the bottom of the hill.
It finally stops in front of us.
Relieved, I mount and pay my bill.
It's amazing how much time makes a difference and how wasted most of it is when we need it. We waste it complaining, bickering, loathing, etc. We should be enjoying each other's company and doing productive things to improve our lifes. Most of the time we don't realize the value until it's seconds determining the fate of someone we love and never spent the time telling them how much we care.