Made of tin, held together with nails
Full of clutter, a child’s paradise
Boxes, tubs, tins and cartons
On shelves made with scrap, balanced with love
Small padlock to keep out the honest
Rusty latch, slot screwed through decay
Fastened and fashioned like chaos combined
Creaking and groaning and girning like him
Spanners and hammers, spread over the bench
Pots and tins of all sort of delights
Hard riven earth your platform
A single light, hiding the spiders webs
All those years ago, the hiding space
My fathers space, his construction zone
My destruction paradise,
A man space, grotto, a shed paradise
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Very descriptive, I feel as if I am standing right in the shed...
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