Spring has sprung,
and new blossoms burst.
Hungered by the lack of fuel,
the compost heap beckons
from across the garden,
angry steam rising
from its core of planned decay,
a foundation for rebirth
and new life in mulch.
He approaches the beast
and tosses the heap –
eggshells, wood shavings, receipts –
fresh fodder for the hungry hole,
the stinking monster
satisfied for a few more weeks.