The Summerhouse

The Summerhouse

 

It started as a carport; nothing grand:

A failing structure, you must understand:

The tree trunks rotted that it stood upon.

Another year and it would all be gone.

 

My car parked underneath, I feared for so

That it was plain that it would have to go.

But other things were stored within its maw;

Things that were great for little teeth to gnaw.

 

And so the back became a sanctuary

For creatures of the night, but not for me.

And John put up a fine partition wall

To separate and reinforce it all.

 

The thing about the building was the sun.

It was a trap from dawn till day was done.

Windows went in, a table and some chairs.

And pictures. We knew how to give us airs.

Now it has lights, the solar panel kind.

A sweeter refuge would be hard to find.

But when I brought my early morning tea,

There was a quite delightful shock for me.

 

A baby blackbird squatted on the ground.

I watched from several yards, without a sound

As from the trees his parent came with food.

How could I interrupt? It would be rude.

 

And so I chose another place to sit.

The bandstand was nearby and that would fit.

That chick would grow to steal my fruit away.

But that’s a battle for another day.

 

©Ruth Twyman Lockyer April 2014

ruthtwyman@hotmail.com