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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Jun 2022
The harpist
Friday night and I'm yawning
I am
borne by my age into tiredness
wondering what page number is this?
and is that thunder
or just a dropped clanger?
thought becomes scattered
because I am shattered
and
not because I am senile.
She,
the one,
gives me a smile
as if to say
let's call it a day,
I think of silver linings and clouds.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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