Waiting

(with excerpts from W.B. Yeats’ The Second Coming,
Robert Frost’s Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening,
William Wordsworth’s The World is Too Much With Us
and Shakespeare’s Hamlet)

Turning and turning
the widening gyre,
the falconer cannot hear…
The rooster, he crows,
and it snows, it snows…
Whose woods these are,
you think you know?

And there are miles to go

before we sleep, sleep, sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream…

We’re waiting, waiting, waiting

posture-perfect, sitting straight,

expectant, holding candles,
and we’re all aglow.

Our waiting is an expectation
made with serious dedication.

All is calm, all is bright,

carolers call in darkest night —

if we stop to listen.

There’s the rub, the paradox:

if our waking life is spent asleep,

we might miss the chance to dream

as we are waiting, waiting, waiting

for something that is quite amazing.

Yes, the world is too much with us.

So often, we lay waste our powers,

getting and spending,

yes, expending is upending.

Do you hear what I hear?

Here it is, right now, today:

a celebration, as we wait.

This wait defies our static mulling —

turns to eager, active, pulling,

knowing that we exist together
under a giant stammer of stars

that beckon, beckon, beckon

inviting us to dream, right now,

alive, aware, awake.
We thrive

in the balance
of waiting.
Hopeful, joyful, peaceful
waiting.

- Caitlin Krause