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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Apr 2017
A circular staircase
The vintage was old vicarage
the label was old spice
the taste was new, peculiar,
a touch which I thought nice.
But I'm spinning rings
a hoopla stall
the fairground's gone,
what happened to it all?
Everything goes
every one grows
everybody knows why
except me.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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The Revolutionist
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