The Evening Is Dreary Poem by Juan Olivarez
The Evening Is Dreary
The evening is dreary,
The clock on the wall,
Approaches midnight.
Thinking, just thinking,
Seated in my lazy chair.
Dozing, slightly, dozing.
My eyes running lazily,
Over mr. Poe's words.
A glass,
Of Presidente Brandy,
Dark amber fire,
Sits on the table,
Next to the half full,
Bottle.
An Arturo Fuentes, curly head,
Burns arromatically,
In the ashtray of petrified wood.
Rain hits the window pane,
Somebody knocks on my door.
5/10/14 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 4:51:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
If I could mi hermano I'd give this one a triple-ten! You've touched my soul. I was drinking Presidente last night! LOVE the stuff. I so understand these your thoughtful, deep words. What a wonderful poem. Can't praise it enough. This is the kind of poetry I seek, yet so seldom find. Bueno mi amigo. Long live el Presidente. Now, if we ever meet, I know exactly what drink to buy you! ! ! Keep writing like this pard, the world, and myself, need it.