Without The Words(CPlatt) I want a shed just to write in
with a rug and a desk, and
an old-fashioned typewriter,
but for now I have
a dog-eared notepad
and a ballpoint pen.

I would retreat to my shed
every morning,
commuting across my garden lawn,
with a cup of Earl Grey tea
and nothing to do with
the day but write.

If I had this magic shed
would the words still come
or would they dry up,
drifting away on the breeze
like flakes of snow?

Having the wonderful shed
and the typewriter and tea,
and the time,
but without the words,
would be like having
a bright red convertible sports car
parked on the drive
with an empty fuel tank.

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