"In the hushed halls of healing, where time stands still, I wait in the pharmacy, a moment to fulfill. Beneath the sterile glow, the pharmacist's ballet, A dance of pills and potions, in the light's soft array.
I find solace in the hum of the air conditioner's song, A whispered symphony, as I've waited so long. The scent of antiseptic, a bittersweet perfume, In this quiet interlude, where patience finds its room.
I sit on plastic chairs, a mosaic of design, Floral patterns and shades, like thoughts intertwine. Magazines with tales of wellness and strife, Each page turned softly, in the rhythm of life.
Behind the counter, the pharmacist's ballet, Assembling remedies, a choreography at play. The click of pill bottles, a rhythmic refrain, A healing sonnet, soothing the waiting pain.
I glance at my watch, the seconds they flee, Yet time takes its time, in this pharmacy sea. I'm suspended in the pause, between ailment and cure, A patient poet, in uncertainty's allure.
The pharmacist smiles, a kind reassurance, In the language of pills, a silent endurance. And as my name echoes through the sterile air, I rise from my seat, leaving patience in the chair.
Prescription in hand, a script of relief, I exit the pharmacy, renewed in belief. For in the waiting, a poem unfurled, A verse of resilience, in the pharmacy world."
