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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

To Change

I won’t give up
even if my words lose me.
Even if my life
bares different fruit
every season.

I am so much
of rain and drought,
cold and heat,
catastrophes large and small,
that I am different.
Of bitter and sweet,
a mouth tasting,
with what fills my heart,
that taking a bite,
I would swear
I never tasted this before.

The way a kiss tastes
on the tongue.
A new moon
shining on the water
with the mint of cold.
The aftertaste of
what’s passed on,
but haunts with
beauty and regret,
at a loss for words
to explain.

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