Did You Think I Was Waiting For You
I wasn’t waiting for you, by the window upstairs.
No. My gaze was set on spring, on the sun, on the green
That I know is coming – on the warmth that cares
For the blossoms and bees and butterflies.
I wasn’t waiting for you, by the rocks on the shore.
No. I was looking to the sky for deep blues and rolling clouds
Whose reflections have danced across the waters since before
I was here. Before you were here.
I wasn’t waiting for you, on the other side of the pane.
No. I was pressed against the glass, watching the trees sway.
I was waiting for the wind to bring me cool big drops of rain
To wash away the winter greys and gently feed the earth.
I wasn’t waiting for you, no not at all. You’ve come uninvited.
You’re not welcome here or there.
You’re the traveler who slips unknown among the crowded train
You find a way to join the crowd as they jostle on their way
To destinations with exotic names and views that take our breath away.
YOU take our breath away but you never pay the price – we do.
You never pay your freight or place, you sneak, you slide, you hide
Yourself away like gum on the bottom of a shoe. You stick and grab
And at the end of the journey we’re battered but still holding on.
You arrive at the next stop and change companions. You’re fickle and cheap.
I wasn’t waiting for you, when you rapped upon my door.
But I knew what you wanted, a fire to keep you warm
A place to shelter, to rest awhile, to sleep upon my floor.
Oh what a deception – you’re always on the move.
A dark and beckoning storm your thunder shakes the rafters and sounds alarming bells.
But my door stays shut and locked while you swirl around my porch.
And I shall NEVER let you in. I am not afraid. I’ll wait. I can.
I’ll watch for SPRIING from my perch on high. She’ll come, I know she will.
She always does and in her style of colours bright and bold.
She will drive your countenance dark and grim away from my window sill.
Then I will open up my door and venture out again.
And sip the air so fresh and clear and revel in the day.
I’ll have visitors to welcome and friends to hold so tight, they gasp for breath.
Written on March 18, 2020 while considering the state of affairs and an unwelcome COVID-19.