When I con­sid­er how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one tal­ent which is death to hide
Lodged with me use­less, though my soul more bent
To serve there­with my Mak­er, and present
My true account, lest he return­ing chide,
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fond­ly ask. But Patience, to pre­vent
That mur­mur, soon replies: “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is king­ly; thou­sands at his bid­ding speed
And post o’er land and ocean with­out rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

These days I send myself a friendly wave quite frequently
I am less and less the girl at the window
AWaiting his return
That window was there in every town and continent
I stared
I waited
I hoped
The disappointment inside myself
Told me there was nothing through the window
Some gentle friends took my hand and led me inside
They Told me they had someone I should meet
And she would understand me best of all
She turned out to be A lot like me,
the best parts of me.
We’ve got a lot closer lately
I like her
And she seems to like me