by David Gittlin

Created on: February 20, 2009

I am a guitar string waiting to be plucked.

I am a boat sailing on a misty lake at night, back and forth.

I am a pad of paper waiting for a pen to write on me.

I am a candle waiting to burst into flame.

When will it happen?

When will I see the clouds break?

When will the sun rain down golden drops of life-sustaining energy upon the fields?

When will the baby shoots push their headsabove the soil?

When will the gates of heaven open?

When will the smile of God cause every living thing to grow straight and tall?

Not before I am ready for it to happen.

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