The Garden Shed

Every morning I left for work at the bottom of the garden,
no one knew, as time elapsed my resolve began to harden,
keep busy, electronic gadgets now, not like the old days,
reflect on what might have been and the error of my ways.

When you opened the door, there was no mower or tools,
remember the required tasks and when ardour cools,
instead, it was a magical world of green marzipan men,
all sitting, grinning, in a space no more than six by ten.

We drank real ale, spoke of fast cars, sex and football,
the laughter continued, there was no sign of an end at all;
'Finish your book', they said, 'We'd like to return at twenty five,'
'Yes,' I said, 'If you're not melted by then and remain alive.'

After a long morning when my progress had been steady,
there was a rasping shout, my wife said; 'Your lunch is ready.'