No better time to fork the compost
Than during a breezy dusk
And the gardener who wields a long hose
Has the means to quell the dust.
No better place to rummage compost
Than a backyard's roomy shade
Far away from the evening sun's most
Desperate ploys to slow its fade.
Steaming and odorous is the compost
Strata of scraps left over
Sandwiched between some hay is pot roast
And a wide spread of clover.
A great deal is learned from one’s compost
Diet that got you fatter,
The food that branded you a bad host
That made your sick guests sicker.
Careful my friend to turn your compost
Else it could start to smolder
Ignore it more, your house could be toast
It is a ruthless scolder.
Whatever is as earthy compost?
Wait, I forgot 'bout history
Chock-full of men and things we boast of
Sandwiched in shame and misery.
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