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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Student

I am not sure of this day.
The wind stammers
and the air is tense,
the light moody and gray.
It is the equinox,
and spring has been slow to come.
Stepping out the door
I feel the coolness
wash anxiety away.

The world feels huge and open,
and I want to join
its mischievous games.
Find the caches of sugar,
blood, and stars
stolen from the heavens.
And for me, being old,
pull me together,
enroll me in its kindergarten,
to have a place where I belong,
and can draw pictures with crayons,
sold by the dozen,
from the store of life.

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