The Waiting

Its branches sway back and forth

Singing to me slowly

Singing a song of resilience

Of pain reprocessed

The tree is an old soul with a weary smile

It speaks silently of pain, then struggle, and finally patience

The waiting

The excruciating in-between

The god-awful accepting of non-acceptance

Then the branches stop swaying briefly

Enough of a pause to remind me

To be a brilliantly illuminating metaphor

That I am in a period of waiting too.