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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Mar 2016
Barber shop.
A haircut,
but for the hair that hangs over my ears there'd be no need for the shears.
If I was a sheep the shearing could keep until the weather got brighter.
I mighta known
that the hair on my head would have grown.
It's the never learning that's turning me inside out.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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Keith Wilson
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