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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>These Winter Sundays</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Chinese New Year Eve<br>i would always hear those banned<br>crackers blasting away <br>the old year at the stroke of twelve<br>- welcoming the new year<br>by breaking the law<br>at the first opportunity -<br>but then Chinese new year<br>is about frightening away<br>the nian monster with the ear<br>splitting sound of fire crackers<br>as well as to create all the <br>excitements for the new year<br>new year though always dawns<br>on me as if the mystical dragon <br>has swallowed its fiery ball <br>to leave the day without light and colours<br>a jazz piece without its saxophone<br>and scintillating piano notes<br>a white world without the <br>wonderful tanginess of black</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Inspired by</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Those Winter Sundays</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Sundays too my father got up early<br>And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, <br>then with cracked hands that ached<br>from labor in the weekday weather made<br>banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.<br>When the rooms were warm, he'd call, <br>and slowly I would rise and dress, <br>fearing the chronic angers of that house, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Speaking indifferently to him, <br>who had driven out the cold<br>and polished my good shoes as well.<br>What did I know, what did I know<br>of love's austere and lonely offices? </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Robert Hayden</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=John+Tiong+Chunghoo">John Tiong Chunghoo</a></strong></div>

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