On Patience

The patience of a playground in winter

Still. Cold. Waiting.

The metal bars hold firm.

Ready for tiny, yet strong, chubby fingers to grab hold.

Still. Silent. Waiting.

The swing's seats lie empty.

Ready to receive the gentle weight of children being swung. 

Still. Solid. Waiting.

The plastic slide beckons.

Ready for the countless downward gliding of happy souls.

Still. Calm. Waiting.

My heart yearns for your call.

Ready to help you cry, ready to help you heal.

I have the patience of a playground in winter.