The Compost Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

The Compost

In older days' village
Compost was a pile
That would face
Four seasons.

Then, farmers with shovels
Worked on it to even
The poor sides with riches.

Once, a man saw a fox
Come to pile and depart.

Stood there for some time
And observed work of fox.

It carried the chickens
And buried into sides.

In absence of the fox
Man took out every hunt.

As soon as fox was done
Stood there, sang a song.

Suddenly came foxes
Ploughed in, went to search.

Not even one was found,
The host Fox collapsed, died.

While waiting for outcome
Of the race for White House
I laugh at the host fox…