Montana

As all ours do, my patience has an end
And yet it has not come, somehow, with you;
It has with everyone I call my friend,
So that, by now, I must expect it to.
And yet I find that nothing that you do
(No matter how annoying it might seem)
Rubs me awry sufficiently to screw
My patience from its sticking place. I scream
Internally sometimes, or in a dream,
But do not find myself inclined to say
I'm done--my patience rises as a cream
Over my frustration. Though I fray,
I have not yet unraveled. Nor shall I;
My patient love's unbounded as the sky.