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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Nov 2021
Canvas
But
when you look at the 'big picture'
it appears to be rather small,
it might be that the hall it hangs in
is enormous,
ridiculous?
and that could be true.
perhaps we're all just paint spots
spittle for the paint pots
and when we dry
we die and come back as an Old Master
or
Whistler's Mother.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
69/Here and now
(69/Here and now)
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