The Fecal Matter

The job was grim I tell you

A thankless task at best

It had a special "air" though

To that I can attest

I approached this job with caution

Eight drums were my domain

A task required often

With the diesel and the flame

Amazing the production

And the quantity that flowed

The way they filled those drums up

A feces overload.

The day that Charlie found it

Without it, we felt lost

A mortar now, right on the nose

A "feces" holocaust.

One hit and it was gone now

A loss of deep regret

There was so much feces everywhere

You'd think that Congress met

DELTA BLUE--Hallowed Ground

© Russell Robison