A line of patients wait outside my door,
They have been there for weeks now, taking turns
Peering in through the frosted glass, my name
Etched on the outward facing side. I have
No secretary, no second hands to field
Their fussy, impatient queries. One man
Loves his father, one only loves the Bard.
A woman has trouble keeping composure,
Another sings out of rhythm and tune.
All need amending before they can be
Acquianted with the world; they are such shy,
Demanding seedlings I am in care of.
The wife will soon request me home for supper,
I must leave all this for another day.
Though late at night my thoughts will be with them,
Resiving has become my twilight dream.