The evening sun set spidery shadows and-
watery rectangles on the smooth marble floor.
The lonely tulip standing in the glass vase,
withered and bowed to salute the sun.
The tiny spider on its transluscent web,
crawled edgeward and weaved no more.
The humming mosquito hit the window glass
in a lost attempt to fly out of the room.
The radio sang an old evening song,
in the background of an unstoppable grumble.
The evening is the time when,even-
the clock is lazy to tick off the time.