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I am a great admirer of English poetry from the time of Chaucer up until the middle of the twentieth century when it appeared to lose its way. I love all aspects of this planet but are sometimes sad when I think of what we are doing to it.

Monday, 21 December 2020

This Word Is...


This word tastes like ashes.

It sounds like the north wind.

The smell of this word is slime.

It feels like razors.

Its shape is serrated.

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