Evans? Yes, many a time <br />I came down his bare flight <br />Of stairs into the gaunt kitchen <br />With its wood fire, where crickets sang <br />Accompaniment to the black kettle"s <br />Whine, and so into the cold <br />Dark to smother in the thick tide <br />Of night that drifted about the walls <br />Of his stark farm on the hill ridge. <br /> <br />It was not the dark filling my eyes <br />And mouth appalled me; not even the drip <br />Of rain like blood from the one tree <br />Weather-tortured. It was the dark <br />Silting the veins of that sick man <br />I left stranded upon the vast <br />And lonely shore of his bleak bed. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Andrew Mayers<br /><br />Ronald Stuart Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evans/
