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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Those winter sundays</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">a single's sunday<br>bachelor's sunday<br>lonely as the sun <br>bright, warm <br>yet cold as ever<br>echoes of deserted morn park<br>reverberated <br>in lonely hearts<br>winter's sunday<br>a bachelor's sunday<br>the lonely walk<br>between the skyscrapers<br>that hid the sun<br>making the day drowsier<br>more melancholy<br>the heart, slayed<br>bobs up and down<br>in an ocean of wish<br>too big for this little frame<br>the mind tries cheering itself up<br>with verses shuttled between<br>different corners of the world<br>the muse's only Sunday warmth<br>that cup of coffee in hand<br>and pen in hand<br>painting the world <br>in his own colours, fashion<br>in his attempt to rise <br>above the waves of Sunday's blue<br>mozart, bach, beethoven, <br>trail the bright Sunday rays<br>sending a wave of joy<br>in this self sustaining survival</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">inspired by: </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=424224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Those Winter Sundays<br> <br>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=424224" 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=424224" 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=424224" 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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