Sunday, October 13, 2019

Ash

There is a little kitchen
       where fire-wood is stashed.
The air is often smoky,
       the stove is full of ash.

Each day before the cooking
       some fire-wood is placed
neatly into the brick-lined stove,
       and slowly set ablaze.

When the fire-wood's aflame
      burning well and good,
The cooking starts to go ahead
      with sparks and ash and soot.

When at last the cooking's done
       and the wood is in a stash,
All that's left is smoky air
       and a stove that's full of ash.

20191013
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ash

Nobody's Park

(Sung to the tune of Nobody's Child) As I was slowly passing A busy town one day I lingered for a moment To watch people on...