Society confers status upon those
Who leave footprints
But it forgets the ones that whisper
Omitting to grant gifts to the quiet
In case the strident march
Is ignored or simply allowed to pass
So when you receive your inscribed pen
An embossed note-pad or signature robe
Sit up and clap and know
That you are in the club
We, the mute drones
Will sponsor you and lay tinder bones
As sleepers for your railway
For loud, exclusive progress
And wilt as the whistle of celebrations
Rounds the curve and vanishes
We losers will wait once again
For the late running train
We are patient because we know that virtue
Consigns value to a different order
mikedohsays 
Beautiful poetry. And true this Mike:
“But it forgets the ones that whisper
Omitting to grant gifts to the quiet”
The way I think is if one thinks patience is a virtue and practices it then one is a winner already. He is a loser if he cannot practice this. What the world thinks is secondary or unimportant because the world is crazy.