I rather fancy a beach hut,
with a gingerbread porch painted blue.
A proper bed with a mattress,
and a bright hand-made quilt or two.
It would need a little bathroom –
my days of dew-soaked treks are gone –
a camping stove for cups of tea,
and the occasional meal for one.
It could be hidden among the dunes,
on the coast not far from home,
so when the mood takes me for camping
I wouldn’t have far to roam.
A comfy chair in the porch
to idle the days away
watching the tide as it comes and goes
and the birdlife cabaret.
for Granada Camp for Wayward Poets, Day 23 prompt