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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Whose Day Is It?

Some days are better than others.
In the crowd of time
which hour was the brightest?
How do you judge one stone
over another?
Both are a thousand millenniums old.
Surely at that age
there was an epiphany of change.
One was sculptured by a glacier,
the other held in the hand
of a child.
What stone was not softened
by that?

So living can be a holiday
or a dead nightingale.
So I can be frightened at breakfast
or dinner,
but what of the puppy
who lives just for me?
The child who wants to tell me
their adventures,
or have me read a story.

I remember my mother’s stories.
For a moment then,
or for a whole day,
I am smiling.
I want an extra apple
for someone else.
I want magic to come from the corner
and play.

Who taught us how to play
with a ball?
Why do we love kites?
To enter each other
with let’s pretend.
Why kissing feels better
than frowning.
What makes a flower blossom?
The seed,
or the angel?

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