The Gift of Irritation

Perhaps we are gifted 
With a thorn of irritation
To help us see within ourselves
Our own throbbing situation

I wonder why a teller’s stance
Never seems to change
And sigh deep within myself
‘Oh, here we go again!’

Pricks of aggravation
Settle o’re my countenance
Listening to the same old tome
Hearing heartfelt elegance

Then contemplate why others
Minus rapt attention listen
As I pour out my same self
In glorious repetition

Patience hopeful is the prize
Endurance our addition
As in love we all forebear
One another’s irritation

2 thoughts on “The Gift of Irritation

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