Will I write in here as snows arrive
Locked eyes and fingers frenzied?
Imagined places, chattering teeth
With windows needing mended
Or will the soft and ancient chair
Seduce me in the corner?
To doze and dream-up worlds galore
While Spring drifts by in wonder
But it’s unlikely that this shed
Will grace me with it’s favours
The ancient box: creative pride
Belongs to next door neighbours