THE SHED

There’s a shed at the bottom of our garden
With a spider’s web hanging across the door,
The hinges are rusty and creak in the wind.
When I’m in bed I lie and I listen,
I’ll open that door one day.

There’s a dusty old window around at the side
With three cracked panes of glass,
I often think there’s someone staring at me
Each time that I pass,
I’ll peep through that window one day.

My brother says there’s a ghost in the shed
Who hides under the rotten floorboards,
And if I ever dare to set foot inside
He’ll jump out and chop off my head,
But I’ll take a peek one day.

I know that there isn’t really a ghost,
My brother tells lies to keep the shed for his den;
There isn’t anyone staring or making strange noises
And the spider has been gone from his web
since I don’t know when,
I’ll go into that shed one day soon,

But not just yet...

FRANK FLYNN