Patience is a virtue
And man, I wish that weren’t true
This week crawled on at the pace of dripping molasses
I saw buildings erected and knocked down in all of my classes
I took tallies in a notebook of every passing hour
Without you my clock hands move with the sprouting of a flower
Without you each day has summer spring winter and fall
Without you the sun stubbornly does stall
Without you the landscape is like a still-picture
Of the way things used to be, a solemn black mixture

Patience is a virtue
And man, I wish that weren’t true
Because I gave up early and counted the little black ticks
That stood tall for hours, one hundred and sixty-six.
No, this can’t be, they’re all accounted for!
This week went so slow, there must have been more!

Without you my time seemed to saunter and multiply
But perception can change and time can sure fly
So I give it the wings of another and it soars above
Time returns to counting seconds, and measures my love