| The Garden Shed |
| It was just a weathered garden shed, In the shadow of a tree, With faded boards and sagging door, But a wonderment to me. Inside upon the wooden floor, Were garden tools and things, The smell of leaves when they are dry, Such memories they do bring.In days when I was but a child, We’d visit Uncle George, And he would give me Blackjack Gum, A friendship we would forge. And just outside his garden shed, That time has passed, I’m older now, by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul |
Monthly Archives: September 2013
Fred’s Shed. A poem about sheds
Fred’s shed
A Man’s home is his Castle
which you may have heard or read
but to Fred the place he loves the most
is his very own Garden Shed.
This structure he made from wood
is where he likes to be
inside he can set the World to right
over a sandwich and a mug of tea.
Yes his Shed is looking a bit ramshackle
and luxurious it definitely ain’t
what with the roof needing repairing
not to mention a good old lick of paint.
But Fred’s shed is his sanctum
where he goes to get some space
inside it’s like a small Bedsit
with a comfy chair and a Bookcase.
So if you don’t see him in his House
and think could old Fred even be dead?
don’t worry he’s alive and well
he’s probably moved into his beloved Shed!
Kevin Halls
