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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Foreign Country</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A foreign country </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</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>

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