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Waiting.
| WAITING
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Do the little brown twigs complain
That they have n't a leaf to wear?
Or the grass, when the wind and rain
Pull at her matted hair ?
Do the little brooks struggle and moan
When the ice has frozen their feet?
Or the moss turn gray as a stone,
Because of the cold and sleet?
Do the buds that the leaves left bare
To strive with their wintry fate,
In a moment of deep despair.
Destroy what they cannot create?
Oh, nature is teaching us there
To patiently wait, and wait.
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| A. E. J.
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| Transcript
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