Odds And Scraps Poem by Devanshi Khetarpal

I agree it smells,
And the wind propels
The squalor upon my face
And the soot refuses to efface.

Yet, I fancy the waste pipe
For all odds and scraps I find there.
I see wondrous entities flow and swipe
And raw things turn ripe!

It is black and unclean,
It's a place I shouldn't explore.
But it is a most fascinating scene,
If you venture to its very core.

I found a fish bone,
That was smelling and burning
And boiled in the waste pipe all alone,
And I resolved to get it home.

My mom smelled it and coughed till dawn,
And till she convalesced, the fish bone had gone.
Thus, I fetched a dead rat this time,
Which I bought from the chimney sweep for a dime.

The dead rat with it's stink anew,
Sojourned in my father's shoe.
And my father's shoe was soaked in its smell,
And that made my father go mad as hell.

The waste pipe is a wonder,
It is the best of creations
Though some think it to be a blunder.
But it is akin to a melodious thunder.

It might be apropos to say
That the waste pipe is a piece of art.
You can find dogs and cats and lovely tarts.
Although they may smell like a full blown farts.

Yet, I fancy the waste pipe
For all odds and scraps I find there.
I see wondrous entities flow and swipe
And raw things turn ripe!