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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Mary’s Catawba: Gem Beach

Suspended by the lake,
a hundred seasons of green silence.
Lawns of rough grass
and unpaved lane.
A pier extending into the water.
The ripple of sand
visible under the slack of waves.
Everything is un-ironed.
Rough milkweed
growing out of the sand.
Vines scrawling over the seawalls.

Children running along the shore.
What time is it?
The clock has stopped its annoying pace.
The century has not written
its corrosion on this unscarred place
of white cottages.
Faces and walls of beautiful simplicity.
Verandas, where people are lounging
indifferent to a world
passing them by.

Mary looks eagerly
for a childhood friend,
and the idyll of a summer
from her youth.
It is here.
I hear it in the reflection
of her voice.

The delight of a child
finding a lost and treasured toy.
I feel her joy
like a breeze coming from the water.
The sound made by the lake.
The clarity of a mirror.
Wine sipped
after sitting in its cask,
and released to the tongue.

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