Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=353425" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>January 23 2005</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">“King’s House. Tuesday.3.45.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An appointment she will never keep<br>with doctor, therapist, social worker<br>and next of kin<br>who try to keep her spirit in, <br>who are trying to keep her alive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Saturday night from a subsiding peace, <br>too shallow to bring heart’s release, <br>uncoils harshness and anger: <br>at senses that will not cease<br>and will not obey her: <br>at a mind that will always and ever betray her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nurses<br>in her private room<br>who care for her<br>are now a source of despair for her; <br>gaolers <br>to her living tomb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Take me home! <br>Can you HEAR me! ”<br>(can you hear me?) <br>“Take me home! <br> Now! ”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“She wanted us <br>to put her outside in her nightdress.<br>At three in the morning! <br>Said she would get a taxi home! ”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Home? <br>“For man goeth to his long home<br>and the mourners go about the streets”? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No.<br>Home to Laurel Court Housing Association.<br>A flat<br>with a front door <br>to keep locked; <br>a familiar bed <br>to rest the ancient of days <br>in her head.<br>“Don’t let the bedclothes<br>touch that wall! <br>A spider sometimes climbs that wall.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No.<br>Instead she lay<br>in a Nursing Home bed<br>while passions pounded<br>and drifted away; <br>by her last possessions<br>so inwardly surrounded; <br>her thoughts, her images, her obsessions; <br>ripening of deeds that will not spare her, <br>for which her preparations <br>did not prepare her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Anger flared her<br>among cooling ashes, <br>flickered along tired nerves<br>its spasms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quite suddenly, <br>after ninety-one years <br>of holding on<br>to each and everything every day, <br>her grasp let go, <br>breathed out<br>and slipped away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ten to six. Sunday morning.<br>As the country digested<br>a severe weather warning <br>of black ice and blizzards<br>and widespread snow, <br>she in her last sleep rested<br>and her last journey let her go.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Anicc&#257; vata sangkhar&#257; .<br>Anicc&#257; vata sangkhar&#257; .<br>Anicc&#257; vata sangkhar&#257; .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eleven o’clock.<br>One hundred yards from that bed, <br>where a church has stood<br>for seven hundred years, <br>surrounded by the grey stones<br>of its dead, <br>a bell tolls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For whom? <br>The living.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Brian+Taylor">Brian Taylor</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=353425" data-title="January 23 2005 de Brian Taylor" data-description="“King’s House. Tuesday.3.45.”

An appointment she will never keep
with doctor, therapist, social worker
and next of kin
who try to keep her spirit in, 
who are trying to keep her alive.

Saturday night from a subsiding peace, 
too shallow to..."></div>
</div>
</div>