Waiting Poem by Max Stark

The woods are waiting.
If they have to,
They'll wait forever.
They don't mind.

There's no goal.
No countdown.
No impatience.
No emptiness.

The waiting might never end.
But that's all right with them.

They're teaching me
that waiting isn't defined
by the absence
of what you're waiting for.

You might not even know
what you're waiting for.

Real waiting is about being ready
for it to happen
Whatever it turns out to be.

That kind of waiting
could take a long time.

To learn to wait like that
might even be
what you're waiting for.