The Smoking Shed

Forgotten old collection full of dust:
Old things for future use paid love by rust.
A drafty, rotten building long here's sat.
It's only visitor are vagrant rat.
And this was so until a long passed day;
A wandering teacher happened by this way.
Potential in a place not hoping, found,
And within view on public school's old ground.
It's not for all that this becomes a treat,
But three or five away come here to meet.
They smoke and talk and jaw for just a bit,
Or silent can remain to saver it:
A building and place that's to them unique.
Yet of it not a word do any speak.
It's shared, and all innately come to know
The kind of thoughts that such loved places grow.