I wrote this poem on a cold futile winter’s day. A theme that often crops up in my poems.
I had the thought of waiting for something, usually a lost love or other need, and not being whole until that after the event.
Usually, though, waiting entails missing out on a new life of openness.
It can mean ignoring potential and new life and loves. After all, we have done and are worried about it’s time to take a deep breath and relax.
Our hopes and dreams may have already come to and by this time of year.
Until I am used to and am happy with you, I will wait.
Until things are just right, I will wait.
Why not take things as they are now and make things better?
Why not ask questions after a trial time?
To try and resolve those things that were pushed under the carpet, or left out to dry for another day’s washing?
Does Life’s laundry need to be neatly folded away?