Life is a kind of Waiting Game
Where each must take his Turn;
Until the time his Number’s called
Man lives (but may not learn).
It’s writ in Universal Code –
The Order of the Queue.
No need shove or push-to-pass
By those in front of you.
Don’t rush. Your own appointment slot
Will come and soon enough.
Now leave all baggage at the door –
For you can’t bring that stuff.
Appreciate the Waiting Room –
You’ll find it’s vast and wide.
Let Senses drink its contents in –
For They make what’s inside.
To share the Chamber, pause awhile;
You’ll not share It again.
Each Life must leave her Note behind
In keep of other Men.
Like Eliot sounds out Above
My rhyme says who goes there;
But finds another source to Love
In Anglican unprayer.
The Calendar. The Pendulum.
The Beating Heart of Man.
Each marks the shifts with unique beats –Enjoy them while you can.