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=521677" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Homecoming</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When you were in Vietnam <br>we got your letters, two or three at once<br>and then the whole house buzzed like a nest <br>of honey drunk bees as we poured over <br>your every word.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We kids imagined you, strong, tough, <br>blazing with righteous American fury <br>cutting down those dirty commies, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">but Mom and Dad <br>read each letter more slowly<br>glancing at each other<br>with darker looks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then one day we got the recording you made, <br>tiny plastic reels, shiny brown tape wound<br>in fragile loops; your voice! <br>just like you were in the room, speaking <br>re-assuring, everyday chat about R&R <br>and shopping in Bangkok. Finally, <br>the tape nearly spent, you said that <br>you were coming home soon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And one bright July morning<br>you came home! Your hat was rakishly tilted, <br>a Lucky Strike cigarette carelessly drooping<br>from the corner of your grinning mouth, <br>all paratrooper swagger, gold braid running <br>through your buttoned shoulder loops, <br>colored ribbons and medals all over your chest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As you walked through the door<br>I stood aside, awestruck, shy.<br>You sat like a visitor in your own home <br>and we opened the packages you brought for us, <br>Christmas in July, as one by one we held <br>our Asian wonders, and watched <br>as Mom held your hand and <br>Dad searched your eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But you were tired, so upstairs in my room <br>you took a midday nap, and when Mom told me <br>to wake you for supper, I nudged your shoulder <br>and you bolted, <br>breathless, <br>down the steps, <br>into the quiet street<br>and stood at tense attention, <br>(the neighbors all gawking) , <br>as you waved your M-16 <br>made of air <br>and memory, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">and waited <br>for the mortars <br>to fall <br>and kill us all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the light returned to your eyes. <br>Slowly you walked back to the house<br>and gently took me by my shoulders<br>and told me to never, <br>never<br>touch you when you were asleep, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">and I never asked you why.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Steven+Federle">Steven Federle</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=521677" data-title="The Homecoming de Steven Federle" data-description="When you were in Vietnam 
we got your letters, two or three at once
and then the whole house buzzed like a nest 
of honey drunk bees as we poured over 
your every word.

We kids imagined you, strong, tough, 
blazing with righteous American fury 
c..."></div>
</div>
</div>