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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

April Day

Sky comes down,
not blue,
but gray,
without zenith
or immensity.
The sky comes down
to the grass and me.
Through the knitting
of new leaves,
tidewater green,
so still,
dreams have wings,
thoughts can fly.

All with all,
things touch each other,
millennial stone,
ephemeral flower.
Earth, love,
life song and poem,
so still,
sky inside the soul,
just you,
just me,
and spring at dawn.

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