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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Reflection In A Phial</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Reflection in Phial </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I look at my hands they are brown as a farmer’s, this pleases me <br>although I have no tractor or a mule. A workman’s sturdy hands, <br>all socialists should have hands that have harvested carrots. <br>I flex the muscles of my upper arms, see the faint movement <br>like mice moving under thawing spring snow. Glorious vanity to <br>think I used to do 100 press ups a day only because I lived in fear <br>of being a weakling. I think of sex, and sadly conclude I never was <br>a great lover, when the act was done I reached for the book I was <br>reading. Yet women liked me because I was not pretentious, they <br>also tried to domesticate me as I had an affinity to walk my own <br>way and often ended up in seedy bars. The squalid side of life has <br>always mystified me, why does a person choose a road that leads to <br>ruin and hardship? I have always been lazy, strenuous effort will not<br> touch me. But I would like to have my muscular arms back.</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=Oskar+Hansen">Oskar Hansen</a></strong></div>