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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Rainy Day

A surface between ocean and air,
this gray sad rain.
I saw this place when I was six,
in the first year of school,
with crayons on my desk.
Looking at the darkness outside,
smelling the oil of colors in the crayons,
not understanding what life was
or would become.

Only that I wished
to put my head on the desk
and close my eyes.
Find the sun inside,
the freedom of the summer,
the vines that trailed up the trees,
running down a gravel street,
listening to trains.

I can see the room in the window,
the class intent on coloring.
My classmates murmuring
between the desks,
and I am coloring with words,
alone in a lonely room,
a song about rain and time.

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