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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Traveler

I see the inner turmoil
of a rose,
the sky when no one’s looking,
the hardness of a yellow stone
with a chapter of forever.
Sparrows
who come at any time,
living in the garden.

Truth is vast,
to the boundary of a starless sea,
but,
I’d like to see the road to Asia,
touch the lips of Europe,
pet the skin of Africa,
and be,
somewhere that never existed.

Send postcards
from the boat to heaven,
buy trinkets from celestial natives.
Go to places I can afford,
and broaden the depth
of my erstwhile knowledge.
Be as traveled as my friends,
and when no one’s looking,
just move on,
finding additional venues
in the islands of my yard.

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