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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

October Lament

I have not given up summer.
Why does the snow,
fall on my green flowers?
Why does the wind,
curl like an icy leaf
around my anemones?
The party is not over.
I did not pray for snow.
Snow to cover the brown wistfulness
of the end.
The leaving.
To brighten the gray scud of low clouds.
I am not ready.
The flowers are not ready.
We still, like lovers,
enjoy each other.

The sun like a bronze shield
was still warm on the grass.
Summer still wore its light blouse
of silk wind,
of pure fingers,
and then what happened?
I rise,
and find snow putting lace on the street.
I open the window,
and dead dreams rush in
with last gasps of perfume,
and I close my eyes,
inhaling the orange, the yellow,
the red sweetness,
the humid words of love
from the dew,
and know it is over.

The snow is coming,
the blue twilights,
and brass cymbals of dawn.
The lounging chair by the door,
watching the destruction
of all the boxes and baskets of summer.
Loving the fall,
the early arrival of the snow queen,
but wanting the summer,
like a child called in from play.
I am not ready to come in,
to sleep,
to wait all those days for spring.

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