We're walking as the sun begins
Its morning rise behind the trees
Just past our house
Joe and I,
Pond on our right,
Cars to the left,
Hill path curving
Up and out of sight.
Morning smells,
The call of geese,
The morning voice of robins,
Cars rushing,
Loud and soft and loud.

Our morning walk,
The route we know...
And the routine.

We do not talk, he and I,
Alone in our heads,
He with his man,
I with my dog thoughts.

This path is the path of years,
Slower now,
Still connected with a leather leash,
We stroll convinced of nothing
But the need to walk.

This morning's different, though...
Joe stops halfway up the morning hill,
Houses and our house below...behind,
Says, "Tuck, old boy,
Should we change this time?"
Stoops to look into my eyes,
Unsnaps the leash...
To my surprise.

His smile lets me see
That I am free.
"No need, I think," he says.

I turn and look back
Toward our house,
Think of geese now standing
On the dewy grass,
Observe the sunlight
Glisten on the stand of corn
Beside us,
Remember past enticing smells
Along the way....
A rabbit scent invites me
Off the path to stray....

Joe's moving now,
On up our hill.
I am standing on the path,
A little shocked and still.

A younger dog would run,
But habit's set its track;
Our mutual walk lies up ahead,
So, faithful now, I move
To walk beside my Joe,
Content to travel with a friend,
And let the running go....

If I asked you to stay
Would you rather let me?
If I wished to blow all the troubles away
Would you rather blow with me?
If I told you that my heart skipped beats
Would you rather say yours do too?
If I jump yelling I love you
Would you rather kiss me thank you?
If I hug you with unbeatable happiness
Would you rather wrap your arms around me?
If whispered never let me go
Would you rather lock the door?

My lazy radar lets me down,
Sometimes I just look a clown.
They called me a lazy reader:
Well I think it was “reader”…

‘Fraid to say I’m very slow,
For learning that’s a deadly foe.
Marking books was very hard,
I was given a yellow card.

For every down, though, there’s an up,
Always a way to win The Cup.
I couldn’t skim, I had no choice,
But that’s what gave me my poetic Voice.

So if I’m slow to read your stuff,
Don’t forget I find it tough.
I’ll read your poem as soon as I can,
And if it’s good I’ll be your fan.

Paul Butters

Reality. Time plays with me because I don't have patience.

as I slammed the door behind me, you began to drive away- "You promised yourself 30 seconds of courage." my brain whispered to my heart.

I froze for what felt like forever, but could not have been longer than a fraction of a second before I sprinted out the door yelling, "Wait!" as your yellow car came halting to a stop, "Just once more," I thought, as my heart began to drop-

"Here is my 30 seconds," I said. "Love is patient." 1 second passed on the clock. "Love is kind." 2 to follow what's true. "Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude." I whispered, 3 seconds more- out the door. "It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged." I recited quietly, realizing my courage was fading as tears streamed down my face violently. "It does not rejoice in injustice, but rather it rejoices when the truth wins."

His eyes began to water as I recited these words we had held onto once more, and louder for good measure, not realizing before how much more it meant then than before, " Love never gives up. Love never loses faith. Love is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. Love never fails..." I finished, realizing my thirty seconds was up, as I began to fall to the floor-I finished off with silent tears as he held me tightly in his arms and I whispered into his ear, "Three things will last forever: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love." 30 seconds- up.

What happened after, I am not sure of. I only know that "when I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away such childish things." I now hold onto the patience I am called to have, hoping and praying for an answer he may never be able to give.

Love is patient. I think as I count slowly to ten, wiping away the heartbreak and pain of a lost romance.

Love is kind. I recite as I remember the way he softly loved me that cool night in the field.

You drove away that day confused and crying, though I am not sure why, since you called it all off. All I know is that I carry those words around with me whenever I think of you- love is patient and kind. I must be these things, in order to love correctly- in order to show His love correctly.

I'm still waiting, patiently, and praying deliberately, for you to stay- for you to just give us *one more chance.

She had a patience,
that no one understood.
She could wait a million years,
just to prove her love.

But no one gave her the option.
No one wanted to wait.
No one wanted patience.
And she just wanted to make everyone happy.

On her quest to make everyone happy,
she lost herself.
She forgot how to smile.
Sometimes she even forgot to breathe.

She was willing to show her love,
but no one was willing to love her back.
At least not the way she loved them.
No one could love like she did.

But she was broken now,
and everyone kept stepping on her shattered pieces.
She was willing to wait on anyone,
but no one would wait for her.