The writing shed, Dylan Thomas.

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Two windows between him and

the harsh elements

The poet sits down in the old wooden chair

and scrolls towards the little table

Books and scraps of paper are everywhere

Empty bottles litter the floor around him

The old shed fitts him like an old glove

Isolation is what he seeks

A warm blanket so to speak

One bottle is waiting

Patiently

It tastes just heavenly

◄ Staffa, JMW Turner.

Elisha ►

Comments

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Greg Freeman

Fri 9th Oct 2020 19:24

I visited it back in 2015. Inspirational spot. Afterwards I wrote this piece for Write Out Loud https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=50519

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Rudyard Kooistra

Fri 9th Oct 2020 18:25

You are very welcome. It sparked your mind in a good way.

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Martin Elder

Fri 9th Oct 2020 18:17

I know the very shed. I have been there and seen it. What a place and what a location over the beautiful inlet. I was quite surprised that there was a thesaurus there on the table. But thanks for the memory
Nice one

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