I've had very little time to write
Because everything has become a fight.
A fight to help my friend's depression,
Made worse by her husband's and sons' oppression;
A fight with attorneys who give opinions,
Before all the facts to them are given;
A fight to find a place to rent
Because on a yard our minds are bent.
A fight to make the museum understand
That we truly love lending a hand;
But we'd like a bit of consideration
For the tolls that our help is taking:
Time away from friends and family,
And travel doesn't come for free.
We have asked, and it would be grand
If from museum any payment was planned.
I'm not complaining; I'm trying to trust
That all we need will come to us
After all, it's very easy to see
That what we need usually comes to be.
But the waiting can be such a chore;
I'm used to pushing for faster and more.
I must calm down and proceed to pray
For guidance on what I'm to do each day.