Attie Lime Grandad’s Shed

G Grra an nd da ad d’’ss S Sh he ed d

Grandad’s shed is as red as a ripe red berry it’s as old as he is (which he admits is very!).

Grandad’s shed smells of Sundays of barbecues and bonfires of woodchips and rosehips of rusty chicken wire.

Grandad’s shed is as tall as the bent oak tree it’s chilly in the winter but it doesn’t bother me.

Grandad’s shed grows stories in the cracks around the door fairy tales and scary tales stories we adore. He snuggles us in flour sacks feeds us Custard Creams sows imagination seeds waters our daydreams. Grandad’s shed is as long as a London bus it’s dusty and it’s musty but it’s perfect for us.

Grandad’s shed makes music when the wind whistles through it creaks and it squeaks like it’s singing to you.

Grandad’s shed has secrets in every nook and cranny like chocolate coins and toffees but don’t tell Granny!