Your mind, I'm guessing, is not clean
You imagine something quite obscene
But a title must act as a lure
This poet likes to be obscure.
The word I want to write about
Is universal, I've no doubt
We spend so much of every day
Pent up, annoyed, in disarray.
We WAIT - for buses, trams and trains
In queues in hopes of changing lanes
In shops we stand and wait to pay
For flights – there's often a delay.
We wait for Fridays – the week-end
We wait, not patiently, to end
A dreary meeting which drags by
So we can watch a match on Sky.
Life's a rush so it's nature's way
Of making us reflect each day
A wait gives us a breathing space
A moment to slow down our pace!
(c) Poet in the woods 2014