Olivia:  'Why, what would you? ' 

Viola:  'Make me a willow cabin at your gate 

             And call upon my soul within the house . . .' 

Shakespeare, Twelfth Night 

~

therein it lies

quietly 

awaiting

it is not black

it is not sad

it is, awaiting

it is not cold

it is not bleak 

it is, awaiting 

there is the sun

at night the moon 

and distantly, the sea 

there is the surf, awaiting

and you, awaiting

`