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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XIII:The light that rises from your feet to your hair</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The light that rises from your feet to your hair,<br>the strength enfolding your delicate form,<br>are not mother of pearl, not chilly silver:<br>you are made of bread, a bread the fire adores.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The grain grew high in its harvest of you,<br>in good time the flour swelled;<br>as the dough rose, doubling your breasts,<br>my love was the coal waiting ready in the earth.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Oh, bread your forehead, your legs, your mouth,<br>bread I devour, born with the morning light,<br>my love, beacon-flag of the bakeries:</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">fire taugh you a lesson of the blood;<br>you learned your holiness from flour,<br>from bread your language and aroma.</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=Pablo+Neruda">Pablo Neruda</a></strong></div>

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