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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Oct 2016
The merrymaker
Mortality's a dying art
once we start
there is an end.
Most tend not to think of death
even when
every breath they take
takes them closer to the
close.
Who knows
things may change
or maybe not
I've got a soft spot for
the doubters
the hand wavers
the shouters,
but
living's still a dying game,
anyone want to play?
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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