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Circlethe Earth's, the days andnights. Circle the eye, circle thesight. We likecircles, go round like life, emergedfrom darkness and raised intolight,..
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Her eyes, swimlike soft tides. Sparklinglike gone summer freezing skieson winters morning. Her eyes; mirrors,reflect and absorb, she breathesme in, th..
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Windingmy eyelids tomorning - I awake quiteoften, with sunlight and the soundof birds.This daydid not beginmerely with early raysof light that shone l..
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What of the grass?What of it's green?What of the leavesthat fell from their trees?What of the landscape?What of the road?What of the house?You could s..
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Of art,there can neverbe enough. Joyful adart. Desire toaspire theheartartist.
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Phoebus far shone his beam upon the day,As I met a sight of the grass in spring.And the winds moaned as their leaves gave way,Butterfly plights with c..
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Life; like apainting. I amof such art.Words alonebut show - nor fearfeign it's line,Were such apiece, to stand thetest of time.The hues maysigh, but l..
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A poem I wrote ages ago.
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A short I did a while back about a murder in Milbride, on the west coast of Scotland.
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The first few days of october brought with it a strong wind that swept across England. It nipped the overgrown rose bush, and the birch tree that stoo..
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