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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Spring Break

In March I fled to Florida,
one day before spring.
Ohio scattered yellow crocus
about the yard before I left,
and fragile little iris
blue as eyes of sky.
Later by the shore
I dozed and watched
through narrow lids,
galaxies of light
glittering on the water.
Morning glories come to mind,
a weathered fence,
August in Ohio,
a quiet pause in summer.
Was it irony wanting one thing,
needing another?
No ticket to be there.

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