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I've painted the shed and once again it seems

Like wood, rather than the grey expanse

Of dying timber, rotting on its beams.

I've painted the shed.

I had to wait until a sudden lance

Of sunlight held the field and hidden dreams

Basked in its warmth, as if the sullen trance

Of winter had been broken and soft streams,

Self motivated, brought the summer's dance

To saturation while the damp wood steams.

I've painted the shed.

Brian Hick August 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 9.7.24