The Evening Wears On
Coal fire
from
deep in the earth.
Staring at dreams
in the flames
in the hearth.
Kettle steaming
on a crook;
hot toddies
with Scotch
drifting fair
from
the Forth
of the Firth.
While away time
with a book;
eyes twinkling
with mirth.
Listen to yarns.
Sing a wee song.
Pull up a chair;
sit by the fireside
where ye belong.
Glowing cinders
glint in the grate.
And I am thinking…
“I’m out of Drambuie.”
“Och aye, there is nae…
But here’s a wee dram
from the isle of Islay.”
We carry on drinking…
The evening wears on
it’s getting late.
“My head is swimming…”
“My glass is empty…”
“What’s that you said?”
The firelight is dimming…
“‘Tis time for bed.”
—Lesley Scoble, November 2026
Audio — The Evening Wears On 🎶
Pull up a chair. Sit by the fireside where ye belong and enjoy the song. Slàinte mhath. 🥃
I wrote The Evening Wears On in response to Sadje’s Whatdoyousee #366 photo prompt.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks to Sadje, for your wonderful inspiration.
And my thanks to you, the reader, for spending this time with me.
Image credits
WDYS Photo prompt: Andrew Ridgley
Feature Photo: ©️Lesley Scoble
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