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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Gift of a Day

The rain is coming.
The sky is gray as a tarnished spoon.
To the south is a horizon of blue.
So day starts.
Earth divides its territories.
In the far south of this world
is snow.
In the far north…
is snow.
The constellations lie in a box
of diamonds,
the planets are a broach of topaz.

I do not take this timeless place
for granted.
Like a mouse I gaze upon a mansion,
and nibble at eternity.
I see the tapestry of a great kingdom
and go through doors.
My mortality is measured
by the coming of ages,
each living
in a day like no other.

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