Patience is her Gift

 Patience is her gift to me
Like any good gift, I question if it was always mine.
But I know it could not be,
For I hold no such power within me.
It is not the patience of plotting, waiting for things to get better.
It is instead the calm knowledge that things were always good,
That, in fact, they could be no other way.
Lyricism is my gift to her,
And what a shoddy gift it is.
Because poets have used words to impress girls since the dawn of time,
But yet has another calmed me so