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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509898" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Evans</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509898" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509898" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509898" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Submitted by Andrew Mayers</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=Ronald+Stuart+Thomas">Ronald Stuart Thomas</a></strong></div>

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