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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


When do we say good-by
small thing,
little thing,
wing broken in the bushes,
shadows for a nest.
I said good-by to day
to allow the night to return,
opened a door
to let out the loneliness of good-by.
So the future could meet the past
and heal its wound.

I cherish the good-by of my mother,
by the faith of her love
when she said good-by.
When the stroke
had robbed her of her voice,
and words.
The winter afternoon was dark outside.
The hospital echoed with farewells,
and as I walked from her silence,
I heard her voice,
Good-by Ted,
and I turned,
and said good-by to her

How vast the space inside us.
The good-by of a mother to her son.
Yet we held each other,
where there are no farewells.
So, the fragile life of a bird,
the last return of day,
my mother who never left,
bid farewell,
and I told them in my heart,
there are no goodbyes,
without hello.

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