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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Jan 2020
Ancient woodland
The clock keeps on ticking,
there's something quite sick in
that,
that being those minutes that pander to the hours that follow
and the days that crowd through the ways I have walked.
A sundial would suit me
right down to the ground.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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Juneau
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Carlo C Gomez
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