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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


The crest of whole mountains
move in the sky.
Glide weightless
with their ponderous weight.
Who could have believed such a June?
So dour,
full of rags,
rain like leaking pipes,
without charm or comfort.
But this sky
redeems the lost days,
yesterday’s illness.
The empty playgrounds
and people refusing to budge.
Why does the weather
so affect me?
Like a lover,
whose every smile and grimace
floods me with delight or despair.

I am a collage of wind and rain,
barometric pressure,
and flashing storm.
But today is doubly sweet,
being so sick,
and rising this morning
with a healthy heart,
a spirit restored.
Three eggs and toast,
and my grandsons Jack, Michael, and Mark
coming over to play,
under this blue sky,
this pure air.
So all is forgotten of the past,
and I live again,
whole and happy.

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