The Waiting

Sitting with a half-hour spare
When suddenly a moment rare
Steals upon me unaware
Its very boldness to declare
That such a moment cannot bear
To see Time giv’n such little care
As to be labeled something “spare”

And still I sit and silent wait
Beginning now to meditate
On how we fools do separate
A day in pieces small and great
So that we might discriminate
Which ones to waste, or designate
As small enough to simply “wait”