It stood at the bottom of the garden,
Old creosote worn wood chipped.
Time rusting away its thin hinges
That holds the door in place.
Inside cobwebs hang like faded
Curtains in far corners whose
Occupants crawl between plant-pots
And rusted tins of screws and nails.
A toothed rake and hoe stand talking
In one corner with a rusting spade
Among shelves with paint pots and old
Coffee jars containing nuts and bolts.
An electric mower with spaghetti lines
Hide behind a wooden bench that had
A vice bolted firmly at one end waiting
For work opposite a dusty window.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Shed by David Wood )
Poem of the Day
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Home And Love, Robert William Service
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Alone, Edgar Allan Poe
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Hedgehog, Paul Muldoon
- Being With You, Heather Burns
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Heather Burns
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1679 - 1718)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Maithili Sharan Gupt
(3 August 1886 – 12 December 1964)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(10 April 1932 - 20 December 2000)