Biodegradable — a word that whispers grace,
A promise held in nature’s gaze.
It means to fade, yet not to vanish still,
But feed the earth with love, as is its will.

To break down slow in rain and wind and sun,
Returning parts to where it all begun.
Nothing defies the soft decay,
Just soil and breath and life through gentle chains.

It speaks of endings laced with soft renewals,
Of time’s embrace and nature’s sacred rituals.
To live, then yield; not waste, but gently give,
A lesson in the art of how to live.

Compostable — a word that yearns to be given back,
not lost, not waste, but promise
wrapped in peel and paper,
destined not for end,
but for becoming.

Compostable is the art of return,
of soft surrender to the soil’s embrace.
It murmurs: I was once something else,
and I shall be again.

It is the quiet alchemy of time,
like coffee grounds still warm from morning’s brew,
And paper filters kissed by steamy dew;
trade death for bloom, and rot for root.

To be compostable is to trust the earth
with your undoing—
knowing it is not destruction,
but a sacred change.

Recyclable — a word that warms like steam,
Where endings flow within a morning dream.
It means to serve, then softly shift once more,
To leave behind, yet open up a door.

Think of the cup, the pour, the fragrant air,
The paper filter steeped with gentle care.
It caught the brew, then gave its purpose whole,
A vessel turned to soul within a bowl.

But when it's done, it need not drift to waste.
Its fibres, strong, can find another place.
Reborn in pages, cartons, threads anew,
Still holding warmth, though kissed by golden dew.

In every brew, a cycle sweetly spins:
The joy of change that quietly begins.