You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it. ~ Margaret Thatcher

Impatient. That’s me. If I finally get around to doing it
it darned sure should be done, should be finished,
should be perfected, the best there ever was,
the end all and be all, the battle won. But all too often…
I find myself in the midst of battle, that same one,
a different one, a similar one, an even more aggressive foe
and I find myself reluctant to fight, for I have fought. I fit it.
Couldn’t resist that. It’s the rebellion in me, Mother’s voice
yelling at me the proper English, but I resist. I procrastinate.
I find myself back at the starting line, one so similar,
it might as well, might be, the same darned place.
Impatient. That’s me. If I finally get around to doing it
it darned sure should be done, should be finished,
should be perfected, the best there ever was,
the end all and be all, the battle won. But all too often…
I find myself in the midst of battle, that same one,
a different one, a similar one, an even more aggressive foe
and I find myself reluctant to fight, for I have fought. I fit it.
Couldn’t resist that. It’s the rebellion in me, Mother’s voice
yelling at me the proper English, but I resist. I procrastinate.
I find myself back at the starting line, one so similar,
it might as well, might be, the same darned place.

Patient. That’s my higher power, my god. My model.
He waited patiently for me to try, to do, to do again,
to get sidetracked, to right myself, to give up…
He knew. He knows for today, tomorrow, 2932
and years after that. But the difference is, he wins.
After I have worried that bone line a restless hound,
he wins. And he takes me with him
to the finish line and the glory beyond.