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=498914" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sacrifices</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All winter the fire devoured everything --<br>tear-stained elegies, old letters, diaries, dead flowers.<br>When April finally arrived,<br>I opened the woodstove one last time<br>and shoveled the remains of those long cold nights<br>into a bucket, ash rising<br>through shafts of sunlight,<br>as swirling in bright, angelic eddies.<br>I shoveled out the charred end of an oak log,<br>black and pointed like a pencil;<br>half-burnt pages<br>sacrificed<br>in the making of poems;<br>old, square handmade nails<br>liberated from weathered planks<br>split for kindling.<br>I buried my hands in the bucket,<br>found the nails, lifted them,<br>the phoenix of my right hand<br>shielded with soot and tar,<br>my left hand shrouded in soft white ash --<br>nails in both fists like forged lightning.<br>I smeared black lines on my face,<br>drew crosses on my chest with the nails,<br>raised my arms and stomped my feet,<br>dancing in honor of spring<br>and rebirth, dancing<br>in honor of winter and death.<br>I hauled the heavy bucket to the garden,<br>spread ashes over the ground,<br>asked the earth to be good.<br>I gave the earth everything<br>that pulled me through the lonely winter --<br>oak trees, barns, poems.<br>I picked up my shovel<br>and turned hard, gray dirt,<br>the blade splitting winter<br>from spring. With hoe and rake,<br>I cultivated soil,<br>tilling row after row,<br>the earth now loose and black.<br>Tearing seed packets with my teeth,<br>I sowed spinach with my right hand,<br>planted petunias with my left.<br>Lifting clumps of dirt,<br>I crumbled them in my fists,<br>loving each dark letter that fell from my fingers.<br>And when I carried my empty bucket to the lake for water,<br>a few last ashes rose into spring-morning air,<br>ash drifting over fields<br>dew-covered<br>and lightly dusted green.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Anonymous submission.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Jones">Richard Jones</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=498914" data-title="Sacrifices de Richard Jones" data-description="All winter the fire devoured everything --
tear-stained elegies, old letters, diaries, dead flowers.
When April finally arrived,
I opened the woodstove one last time
and shoveled the remains of those long cold nights
into a bucket, ash rising
thro..."></div>
</div>
</div>