Patience

What is this thing,
We are asked to bring,
Forth in our lives daily,
That we might someday be,
United together once more,
Not upon separate shore,
This virtue that stands,
Straight and true as bands,
Of iron strong and proud,
The last after the crowd,
Has all tired and gone home,
Back in mediocrity to roam,
This virtue that waits,
No flailing around for chance or fate,
The virtue that endures time,
Beyond when waiting seems a crime,
This virtue, patience, by name,
Who has one claim to fame,
That is, she waits long,
Long past when others once strong,
Cease to endure and wait,
When others admit their fate,
When had they but stood,
Strong and stiff as wood,
Perhaps one more day,
They would be able to say,
That it was worth the cost,
The risk of all being lost,
This time spent waiting,
When impatience is grating,
Upon the mind,
And doubt is so unkind,
Put patience is a virtue,
Which is uniquely true,
In this regard,
It is only as hard,
As one more day,
Of hoping for sun in the grey.