If not forsythia, what?

Always we wait.  Most often we seem to miss what is already here.

We still wait for forsythia,

The rhubarb barely present

At the end of the garden bed.

Last year it was half grown by now.

This year is nothing

Like last year.

Still we always wait

For something

Just around the corner.

There is always something

To wait for

Even while something

Is always here,

Waiting to be discovered.

If not forsythia

What?