Your contents are now a complete mystery
Home to much of my childhood history
I fondly remember all that you’ve contained
But I’m not exactly sure if anything remains


Bats and balls, bikes and sticks
Quite the varied outdoor mix
It’s been a great many years, since I’ve been inside
I wonder what old secrets you continue to hide


Old and weathered, you’re still holding together
Over twenty years the guardian, of childhood pleasures
On a beautiful summer day, your door was always open
Now closed, blocked by a brink, because your lock is aged and broken


You were once a wonderful place to gather and hide
A clubhouse where all my friends could play by my side
When we got older and started to rebel
To your roof we would climb, with stories to tell


As a teenager, my interest in you faded and died
I no longer wanted all the whimsy you previously supplied
I’d rather lock myself away in my room
So you now stand in the garden, a forgotten childhood tomb


My curiosities starting to get the better of me
I wonder if there’s anything worthwhile for me to see
Would it ruin the mystery if I saw that’s within?
Or would memories return of a life that has been


Opening the door I feel a little trepidation
Hoping that the sight won’t be a big deflation
Maybe there’s a youth that I could try and reacquire
But instead all that I find is my parents tumble dryer.



6 thoughts on “Shed

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