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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


Weddings, graduations,
spring, when signature times
are celebrated.
When people have our good wishes
and applause.
Days when mothers and fathers
are honored,
and the dead have their hands arranged,
fingers intertwined
like the embroidery of life.
Honor guards, in which I participated
with the sharp crack of rifle fire,
like bolts of thunder over the graves.

And spring cleaning of our belfries,
prophesies of world’s end
swept out the door.
A train of good tidings
and all’s well
with bouquets and songs,
trumpet blasts,
and the evening’s dancing
with rich tables.

Then a moment
when I grow pensive,
wandering off,
and feel the invisible glide
of earth under me
and to whatever listens
I ask,
does it all come back,
a day at a time,
never to end?

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