<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=489509" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Itself, A Long Time Ago, But Which We Did Not Notice</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">at the earliest hour of the morning<br>this first day of January, i hear a faint cry from the <br>valley, outside this old house, seemingly like a <br>cry from my imagination, <br>my mind listening to the sound<br>of its making</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i knew i heard it, it was like<br>a shrill voice of a little girl, <br>or was it a parrot, or the vine, <br>or from the distant wind, <br> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sunlight lands in my skin from its distant flight<br>no longer a soft shade, or a leaning shadow, a little shallow<br>it is outside my flesh, this body</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it does not come from this daily monologue<br>of a memory fading with the passage of time<br>the sun emerges from the hills and mountains<br>and walls and fences, and boundaries, and markings<br>outside my body</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that faint cry - it has a personal note of its own<br>like a blow of a horn, it comes from the sun's majesty</div><div style="margin:10px 0">surrounded by the laces of its own<br>magnificent roundness, yet still far away from me<br>a trillion miles, a number of light years</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is like a fresh awareness, a new way of looking at things, of what<br>was there a long time ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</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=489509" data-title="In Itself, A Long Time Ago, But Which We Did Not Notice de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="at the earliest hour of the morning this first day of January, i hear a faint cry from the valley, outside this old house, seemingly like a cry from my imagination, my mind listening to the sound of its making i knew i heard it, it was like a ..."></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