Sandwich poem (Poem #1)

On the eight of august 

I ate a sandwich

A gust of wind blew it away

Which blue skies fret not for my sandwiches

Nay, my gyros or subs astray

Lies I've been told, led awry

Damned weatherman, said to the screen

"No wind for the rest of the week"

Yet on the fourth day, my sandwich no longer

tethered to my hand

Whisked away as the rest of the leaves 

Found it later on the farmland

Lying so cold and alone in the earth

Yet I could not eat, nor feed it, it hurts