Where does inspiration live? What is your sanctum sanctorum?
A tableau of potting sheds, petrichor and pinot noir.
lyrics
The shed is my home in the rain of the night
A bench for sitting, a candle for light
A time to reflect: there's no sound as sweet
As the patter when water and shingle meet
The world has turned cold, but the wick glows warm
The ashes of hash billow out in a swarm
And a coffer of coffee compels time to slow
A burgundy glass, the wisdom to flow
The perfume of concrete and asphalt soaks dry
The vaporous tears I once opted to cry
The trees become darker and saturate hues
As whispered sweet nothings waft in from my muse
I sit in the sanctum, and drink in the joys
Of all upon earth murmuring its white noise
A mind to meander, a pencil to write
The shed is my home in the rain of the night
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