A Carton of Eggs
On my walk to stretch my legs
Today I came across,
On the path, a dozen eggs,
So I am at a loss.
The carton sat there and each shell,
Though rather neatly cracked,
Did pique my interest and compel
This writer to react.
Did someone eat those eggs uncooked?
(I’d cringe to try one raw.)
But on the sidewalk, last I looked,
A flame’s against the law.
At least within whoe’er consumed
Those eggs for some strange bash,
A sense of guilt should then have bloomed
To chuck them in the trash.
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