Charcoal Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Charcoal

Youngsters exchanged winks:
"He is old…gunny pig."

Could have meant much, much more.

In between, I smiled with no talk.

Could hear the old one, in his heart:
"Poor these kids…"

He, the old knew what charcoal is:
"Half dead-killed."

He recalled the old days and the wells
some tinder and soft wood at the base
then trunk and the boughs, branches
after time; not extent, and then sealed.

Heat would burn the wood but
it turned to ash…

"Young goes buys in the shop; if ever! "
Thought the old:

"And fruits, natural taste and nature? "
He whispered.