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=428462" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Troop Train</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It stops the town we come through. Workers raise <br>Their oily arms in good salute and grin. <br>Kids scream as at a circus. Business men <br>Glance hopefully and go their measured way. <br>And women standing at their dumbstruck door <br>More slowly wave and seem to warn us back, <br>As if a tear blinding the course of war <br>Might once dissolve our iron in their sweet wish. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Fruit of the world, O clustered on ourselves <br>We hang as from a cornucopia <br>In total friendliness, with faces bunched <br>To spray the streets with catcalls and with leers. <br>A bottle smashes on the moving ties <br>And eyes fixed on a lady smiling pink <br>Stretch like a rubber-band and snap and sting <br>The mouth that wants the drink-of-water kiss. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And on through crummy continents and days, <br>Deliberate, grimy, slightly drunk we crawl, <br>The good-bad boys of circumstance and chance, <br>Whose bucket-helmets bang the empty wall <br>Where twist the murdered bodies of our packs <br>Next to the guns that only seem themselves. <br>And distance like a strap adjusted shrinks, <br>Tightens across the shoulder and holds firm. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Here is a deck of cards; out of this hand <br>Dealer, deal me my luck, a pair of bulls, <br>The right draw to a flush, the one-eyed jack. <br>Diamonds and hearts are red but spades are black, <br>And spades are spades and clubs are clovers—black. <br>But deal me winners, souvenirs of peace. <br>This stands to reason and arithmetic, <br>Luck also travels and not all come back. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Trains lead to ships and ships to death or trains, <br>And trains to death or trucks, and trucks to death, <br>Or trucks lead to the march, the march to death, <br>Or that survival which is all our hope; <br>And death leads back to trucks and trains and ships, <br>But life leads to the march, O flag! at last <br>The place of life found after trains and death— <br>Nightfall of nations brilliant after war.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Karl+Shapiro">Karl Shapiro</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=428462" data-title="Troop Train de Karl Shapiro" data-description="It stops the town we come through. Workers raise 
Their oily arms in good salute and grin. 
Kids scream as at a circus. Business men 
Glance hopefully and go their measured way. 
And women standing at their dumbstruck door 
More slowly wave and se..."></div>
</div>
</div>