<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459877" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Thumbnails and finger ends</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A book of learned scholarship, <br>open in my hands, at the first page…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and then I saw, to the right of it, <br>my thumb nail…and marvelled –</div><div style="margin:10px 0">at its perfection, at its beauty, <br>and at my own ignorance –</div><div style="margin:10px 0">which strangely, was all part<br>of that same beauteous perfection…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the thumbnail: curved, as a hollowed claw, <br>the curve I knew would give it added strength; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sitting as secure as any child of love, <br>within the folded mystery of skin and flesh; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">three-coloured: pale rising moon<br>emerging from its secret nail-bed<br>as some goddess might appear; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">then the subtle shades of rosy pink, <br>hinting at blood serving readily<br>the nail’s demands; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">finally, the top (long, shaped, as best to gouge<br>potato’s eyes, and other kitchen tasks…) : </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I looked at it, and marvelled: <br>the whole creation, conspiring to present<br>this perfect thing…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fifty years and more ago, I wrote, <br>in those years when I despaired<br>of making sense of so-called ‘adult’ world, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sitting at the desk, to find myself<br>before setting off to earn my daily bread, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wrote – in lines that never quite linked up<br>their visioned moments into complete poems, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">on white and yearning pages like a life unwrit: <br>‘we know not our own finger ends…’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wrinkled thumb and finger – they have lasted; <br>the holy mystery - praise God - remains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</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=459877" data-title="Thumbnails and finger ends de Michael Shepherd" data-description="A book of learned scholarship, open in my hands, at the first page… and then I saw, to the right of it, my thumb nail…and marvelled – at its perfection, at its beauty, and at my own ignorance – which strangely, was all part of that s..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black