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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448648" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Proximity</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her instrument fluttered like the humming bird<br>a harp humming strumming true<br>kneaded the Carolina gloaming.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her hands were violin pure<br>her eyes twinkled like a harpsichord; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, her eager audience, <br>sit memorized<br>by her fluttering finger-tips<br>inveighing a sorrowful tune<br>which came pouring over me<br>in the shaded night<br>on the patio<br>where she plays the piano<br>newly tuned, and I, new visitor<br>and suitor<br>am with her grandmother sitting chaperon<br>asking<br>'My boy what do you do? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was the Latin American Way; <br>I lift my voice: <br>'I worship your grand-daughter; <br>she is my career<br>and I bask in the marvelment of the beauty<br>her mother and grand-ma-ma<br>have contributed to this moment; <br>this evening<br>where I benefit this star-lit night, <br>where moonbeam and fire-flies highlight<br>your granddaughter's hair<br>and I sit knowing I will never see<br>the marriage aisle with her-<br>I am from another continent-<br>but I sit this night content-<br>with mere proximity<br>reeling in the experience.'<br>Grand-mama smiled at the perspicacity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some times love offered<br>is the heart practicing<br>for a future use.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lonnie+Hicks">Lonnie Hicks</a><div class=q>
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<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=448648" data-title="Proximity de Lonnie Hicks" data-description="Her instrument fluttered like the humming bird
a harp humming strumming true
kneaded the Carolina gloaming.

Her hands were violin pure
her eyes twinkled like a harpsichord; 

I, her eager audience, 
sit memorized
by her fluttering finger-tips
inv..."></div>
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