Locked down in the Manshed 10. A poem by Eamonn Fitzgerald

Another work week
Is finally done.
Batteries drained,
fuel light flashing.
Time to take a rest
In my organised shed
By the unkempt lawn.

I’ve things to make
And things to write
And things to fix
And things to do
(And grass to cut)
And stuff to think about.

But for an while
I’ll sit quite still,
Sawdust all around,
And let my shed
Do it’s thing.
Throwing oil
On stormy water
Trying to calm the soul.
But if I pause a while,
And clear my mind,
I’ll find the courage
To start again.
A new Triumphant March.

It’s now shed to work,
No longer work to shed.


I own a Manshed where I make stuff and think about stuff, and recently, I’ve been writing about stuff.

1 Comment

  1. I’ll miss the shed

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