<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=388910" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Standing in the Cold</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">and so it comes to this.<br>standing beneath the archway<br>of passion, and unbridled emotion.<br>my old worn hands tremble<br>a little as i pass the cup.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> and your eyes have a faraway<br>glint; not conscious, not here anymore.<br>lips that once knew the language<br>of mine, are terse, and set.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> where did the living go? <br>the laughter, the touching, <br>that lay awake at night and<br>watched me sleep, as if drunken.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> and all the words whispered<br>as if magic and secret, hidden<br>in the place that no one else knew, <br>that no darkness could touch...</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> gone. now winter is over.<br>the earth begins to swell and burst.<br>somwhere small birds are singing, <br>and raindrops hang from budding branches.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> only the memory remains.<br>time marches on; and God, or destiny, <br>without thinking, or hesitation, <br>has ordained this death! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> love swallows the first glint<br>of morning sun on the horizon; <br>and leaves me standing in the cold, <br>too damned tired to shiver...</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Eric+Cockrell">Eric Cockrell</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=388910" data-title="Standing in the Cold de Eric Cockrell" data-description="and so it comes to this. standing beneath the archway of passion, and unbridled emotion. my old worn hands tremble a little as i pass the cup. and your eyes have a faraway glint; not conscious, not here anymore. lips that once knew the language ..."></div> </div> </div>

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