Poem #4 – 8th March 2014

A sanctuary: a cobwebbed cave:

A cache of cold and ill-used tools.

Dumped wood slats amidst a maze

Of pots and tins and dried paint pools

In undisturbed, dark creepy nooks

For spiders and those beasts from worlds,

Where forgotten mildewed books

Provide the ideal home in furls

Of papers, and with grateful gloved hands

I hunt for spade and trowel and rake.

Finally to face demands

Of this Spring garden now awake.


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