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=460643" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0173 Memory's fast rewind</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes memory<br>runs back like an instant fast rewind<br>like it’s said to do at death<br>and hits you wham between the eyes<br>with your own life</div><div style="margin:10px 0">today – what, November 19 – I was<br>chilling out in the pub<br>again<br>relaxing into life<br>and there, framed in the window was<br>a lady (as she was today) crossing the road<br>dressed, this cool-cold day, in black tights and<br>a woollen two-piece suit in Christmas red, and<br>the red…<br>took me back so many years<br>that I didn’t know whether to be grateful<br>for the glimpse, or<br>regret the fast grey years between…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it must have been when I was two and a half<br>and for the first time in my life<br>my parents sought a hint<br>(first time in their lives too) <br>about The Big One for my Christmas –<br>walked oh so casually with me through <br>the glittering store as if for<br>no-one, everyone, anyone<br>but me … and there it was –<br>the pedal car in gleaming, buy-me red<br>with all the details I still can’t bear to describe<br>enamelled like a glimpse of paradise</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and sure enough, come Christmas Day<br>there it was – except –<br>(I punctuate like Emily D when out of breath…) <br>in blue</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how can a child be adult enough to be<br>grateful for a second-best? And how<br>can parents be a child again and know? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had forgotten until now how the seasons had their colours –<br>pink Valentines almost merging into complex mauve in<br>Easter cards, and icing, marzipan, and yellow chicks, summer days<br>needing no coloured herald but the sun<br>then autumn colours ambivalent<br>with the apprehension of new classes, and<br>new threats…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and all this time, at just this time of year<br>Christmas red shouts loud its herald’s trumpet<br>of paradise; promised; lost; <br>perhaps, regained</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=460643" data-title="0173 Memory's fast rewind de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Sometimes memory
runs back like an instant fast rewind
like it’s said to do at death
and hits you wham between the eyes
with your own life

today – what, November 19 – I was
chilling out in the pub
again
relaxing into life
and there, framed ..."></div>
</div>
</div>