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A Passing Year
I can hear
You listening,
Absorbed,
Vanishing.
Our colours
Become
Completed,
Shadows
Following
Each contentment,
Desire,
Wishes.
So come now,
Kiss the lip
Of the moment,
Focus
And flat-line
All our
Decembers
All our
Loved
New Years
To the hand
Keats reached out
And said:
Touch...
John Cornwall
If you have any comments on his poems, John Cornwall would be
pleased to hear from you.
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