<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447889" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Happiest Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was early May, I think<br>a moment of lilac or dogwood<br>when so many promises are made<br>it hardly matters if a few are broken.<br>My mother and father still hovered<br>in the background, part of the scenery<br>like the houses I had grown up in,<br>and if they would be torn down later<br>that was something I knew<br>but didn't believe. Our children were asleep<br>or playing, the youngest as new<br>as the new smell of the lilacs,<br>and how could I have guessed<br>their roots were shallow<br>and would be easily transplanted.<br>I didn't even guess that I was happy.<br>The small irritations that are like salt<br>on melon were what I dwelt on,<br>though in truth they simply<br>made the fruit taste sweeter.<br>So we sat on the porch<br>in the cool morning, sipping<br>hot coffee. Behind the news of the day--<br>strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere--<br>I could see the top of your dark head<br>and thought not of public conflagrations<br>but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.<br>If someone could stop the camera then...<br>if someone could only stop the camera<br>and ask me: are you happy?<br>perhaps I would have noticed<br>how the morning shone in the reflected<br>color of lilac. Yes, I might have said<br>and offered a steaming cup of coffee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Linda+Pastan">Linda Pastan</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=447889" data-title="The Happiest Day de Linda Pastan" data-description="It was early May, I think a moment of lilac or dogwood when so many promises are made it hardly matters if a few are broken. My mother and father still hovered in the background, part of the scenery like the houses I had grown up in, and if they w..."></div> </div> </div>

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