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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=410260" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>If Tristan was mending his girlfriend's jewelry, would he use an Isolde-ring Iron?</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=410260" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I wondered, if the hero had been overweight or baldy<br>would women weep, perhaps lose sleep, o'er Tristan and Isolde? <br>And then I pushed derision from my vision of the plot<br>and asked my heart to seek the part, wherein the story got<br>its hook and held my interest. The part where it took hold.<br>The crux of what draws in the masses, since the days of old.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=410260" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How can we find a modern link, a crude analogy<br>compared to such medieval ink which peppered History.<br>I thought then of a trinket. A desk-top toy per chance, <br>those cradles of ball bearings swinging in hypnotic trance.<br>For love to last eternally, would mirror this toy's mission<br>and live within the pleasing din that chimes with each collision.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=410260" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And just as in enchanted forests, mystic wood or copse...<br>The forces great will separate them, till at last, <br>the cradle stops.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Hola+Mentirosa">Hola Mentirosa</a></strong></div>