Читать книгу At the Great Door of Morning - Robert Hedin - Страница 13

The Old Swede

Strange, how I think of him every time

I take a bath: down in that little room

Off the cellar stairs, sprawled out

Full length in the long, white hull

Of the tub, belting out the hymns

They brought over from the old country,

The ones he used to sing in steerage.

Some nights even now I hear him

All over the house, every room,

His big voice booming through the vents.