Thank you, Anni. Maybe I'm a masochist because I do like making things difficult for myself. I considered rhyming each line as well, but that was a bridge too far. Perhaps next time...
The shed, grown old with the man who built it,
sags, like him, under the weight of the years,
wooden bones rotten with the rain of ages,
broken window dark with moss and cobweb,
the tools inside rusted and camouflaged
in the dim light, storage now only of the forgotten,
quiet retreat and shelter once of its builder,
ready now for collapse into the grave.
Line count: 8
Free verse
For Express It In Eight, 03.26.23
Prompt: Write a poem about an old barn or shed.
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