Impatience was my temper as a child,
and I could never list serenity
as any teenage asset. I was wild
with my lust to have control of me.

If increments of wisdom come with age,
then maybe I can start to understand
I won’t acquire patience as I gauge
my future shorter. All the good I planned
must be compressed to fit diminished time,
inserted into days I don’t feel ill.
So any morning I rise feeling fine
impresses me with urgency to fill
it up with noticing, and hunting truth.
I’m more impatient now than in my youth.