Blow, blow thou Spring winds and a really fierce gust snatched a compost bin from Roberto's Kent cultivations. For a moment, it seemed aimed for the moon or the coming athletics in Brazil.
It settled instead on one giant leap and a considerable one, amazing our poet in the garden as it whistled overhead. Roberto gulped and reached for his pen.
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A compost bin returns to Earth
It is nice
to know there was no sin,
In my disappearing compost bin.
In fact our scarecrows said to me,
"The distance flown, 19 feet and 3,
Was quite a sight for us to see".
|Drawing by Ann Sutherland|
The world record, though, will still stand
(It's a lot of feet and several hands).
Tea bags with an Earl Grey hue,
And orange skins, turned mouldy blue.
And bits of roots and parts of boots,
Plus over exuberant potato shoots,
Were carried off one windy day,
On a windswept April day.
This compost bin sailed overseas,
To somewhere off the Antilles,
Appearing on the radar screens,
Of Gardeners Question Time, in Sheen.
It sits there mouldering in the sand,
Humming in that warmer land,
Where, some swear, it undoes songs,
Decomposing, as it pongs.
- 12 iv 2016
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