
This beach hut standing all alone
was surely once a shepherd’s home
the wheels which from the floor descended
cast aside, their use now ended
for it stands now on a bed of grass
the wandering life now sadly past
now ewes are brought down from hill and glen
to where the farmer keeps watch over them
memories like these fill my eyes with tears
for I remember when I used to hold the shears

I love this. Smacks of truth, though I know you as a sailor not a shepherd
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