Summers gone the leaves are dead
There's mist on the window of the garden shed
The mowers saying "I've been pushed too far"
And now rests under a blanket like Noddy's car.
Next year I'll get the bikes out and pump up the tyres
And find a new home for that two bar fire
I'll clear out the paint tins and the pile of old sacks
That's been stopping us get from the front to the back.
There's a rotary dryer, a knackered old mop
A barbecue that's never seen burger or chop
Some old LP's, Four bottles of stout
A Robin that seems to get in and get out.
Some chest expanders, an exercise bike
A cassette recorder with built in mic
Some Betamax tapes in a box that held fruit
A spider's home in a wellington boot.
There's a pile of old papers, a bent dustbin lid
That should have come in handy but never did
There's a half bag of sawdust, a home for a mouse
And a drill that blows fuses inside the house.
Next year I promise I'll sort the shed out
I've started by drinking those four bottles of stout
I know I've let it become a tip
I've made a note in my diary to order a skip.