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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
May 2018
A spiral of smoke
Where the lines converge
and the lights merge.
Each moment that passes is a
class in the art of remembering,
To master the minute
become
as one
silent within it and
to await the next,
but ask
what purpose to be virtuous when
patience is the limit of life?
The Moabite Ruth
took God as her proof
but
who knows where
the truth lies?
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
69/Here and now
(69/Here and now)
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