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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Drought is Over

At last, at last, at last,
the thunder came,
and the wind, and the rain.
Summer turned to twilight,
and in a flash the world burned.
The drought withered
and hid under branches
until the flood devoured it,
and I could breathe the air again,
rinsed of its dust and particulate.

The day turned into holiday.
The listlessness of the arid atmosphere
vanished in a burst of wet kisses.
Life restored itself.
Sound lost its tinny voice
and turned into a melody of life.
I am a creature of weather.
My sails fall on airless days.
My heart broods under overcast.
I shrivel in the cold.

I have no philosophy that revives me
more than sun,
white billowy clouds,
morning’s hands on my cheeks,
like a mother
holding her child’s face and saying,
you are beautiful,
I love you,
everything will be all right,
little weather soul,
sailor,
fair weather angel.
Then,
the drought that discouraged me
is gone with the wind,
at last.

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