A foreign country <br /> <br />The flat was on the third floor, three flights of wooden stairs <br />deep groves from generation of people walking up and down. <br />In the living room I sat down. Had been away for long no one at <br />home. The autumn wind blew, the house swayed and creaked <br />like an old schooner meeting the Atlantic swells. <br /> <br />A simple living room, a few family pictures and an amateur <br />painting of a row boat in a fjord, boathouse, blue sky and sea, <br />a far hazy silhouette of a mountain range. The painting was <br />ominous by its deadness. I got up went down the same stairs; <br />I had entered, the past and those I knew had gone.<br /><br />oskar hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/foreign-country/
