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Making Omelets

I turned the wrong direction. My arm brushed 
against something solid on the counter, which slid 
to the floor. I heard the cracking sound and knew 
the eggs were broken. You cannot repair broken 
eggs. You must either count them a total loss and 
pitch them in the garbage, or create an omelet.

Life is like those eggs. Some things get broken;
bones, treasures, hearts - often by accident, but
sometimes by design. There’s no turning back.

We can’t always mend or restore parts crushed
in the calamities of life. But, we can search
within ourselves and find the will to survive.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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Date: 11/14/2014 3:29:00 PM
wise and wonderful! love the title, too...
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Cona Adams
Date: 11/14/2014 4:29:00 PM
Thank you, Ilene. Funny, the things which spark a poem. Seems like it's almost anything. Have a great evening!

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry