Patience is a quiet thread,  
Woven through hearts, someone said,  
Strong as stone, yet soft as air,  
A fragile grace that’s always there.  

It bends, it waits, it does not break,  
Yet cracks may form when storms awake.  
A steady hand, a mindful breath,  
A dance with time, to life or death.  

In its slow burn, we find our way,  
But lose it all if it should fray.  
A virtue firm, yet rare, it’s true—  
Patience can be both old and new.