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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Ding-Dong Love

I am not giving myself to spring
right now,
where the water stops and sleeps.
The only dimple an asteroid of dust.
There is no heat in me,
or warmth in me.
I am waiting for my storms to come.

Mark, Michael, and Jack.
The first rush of air!
The magnetism of utter velocity.
Three questions waiting for an answer.
Water splashed into a glass.
A door swinging open.

Freedom rushing past.
The boys racing into the surf
of day,
allowing no excuse to hold my knees
in angst.
I rise, young and strong,
and go where they are going,
inside myself a shout of gratitude.
Thank God for children.

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