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