Sunday Dinner
Sunday Dinner
It was on an impulse I went to visit
my brothers' a fine Sunday noon,
No answer, but the door was open
I walked in food on the table, still
warm. Mary Celeste, I thought and
served myself.
Their garden looked enchanting
bushes full of red berries, I turned
on the water sprinklers and left;
heard a scream, thought it came
from their neighbour's garden and
took no notice.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Added by Poetry Lover
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