A furrowed brow, a tapping foot,
Impatience hangs, a heavy loot.
My words they stumble, thoughts unwind,
A tangled mess, you leave behind.

Your questions sharp, your answers clipped,
The air grows thin, my spirit stripped.
I yearn to bloom, to find my voice,
But stifled by a hurried choice.

Perhaps I’m slow, perhaps I stray,
But patience, friend, could pave the way.
For understanding, clear and bright,
Would spark a fire, burning light.

So let us breathe, and slow the pace,
Together find a fertile space.
For seeds of knowledge, trust, and care,
With patience sown, a harvest rare.