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=459923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Woman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">How can a mother ever quite forget, <br>or quite relinquish in her memory, <br>that state which babies share with saints: <br>to be free from all desires of mind? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so the mother must take on<br>that strange but natural responsibility<br>to desire, for the baby in her charge; but then, <br>one day, to learn to stop to ‘mother’<br>for the child’s own growing sake..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And how much more, instinct and reason<br>must have played in Her; given a responsibility<br>greater than the world itself? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And who can ever know those private conversations<br>between the growing Child of God<br>and young earthly mother of that heavenly Child? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, when at that wedding and its showing-forth<br>the servants were unsure, She was there<br>to say ‘Do what He says’..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And from John comes that bald account<br>which we must read each for ourself: <br>‘Woman, what have you to do with Me…? ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He, not yet ready as He thought, <br>for destiny; divisive miracles? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who knows how many private conversations<br>lay behind that question and its rhetoric –<br>public, and recorded by that deeply impressed scribe…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and whether it was said with gentle smile<br>(who reads the words of Jesus as from One<br>who almost always smiled – His words, a gift?) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">or said with firm authority, which we may take<br>as heard by Her, not with a fusser’s shame, <br>but with Magnificat still ringing in Her mind? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then, perhaps, She learned to grieve<br>and not to grieve, beneath a holy Cross..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think this passage is forever read<br>by men in one way; women in another; <br>and perhaps, that’s just how it should be.</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=459923" data-title="Woman de Michael Shepherd" data-description="How can a mother ever quite forget, 
or quite relinquish in her memory, 
that state which babies share with saints: 
to be free from all desires of mind? 

And so the mother must take on
that strange but natural responsibility
to desire, for the b..."></div>
</div>
</div>