The Egg

My three minute egg in boiling water,
Seventeen for hard-boiled, according to Julia,
Or fried in bacon grease for the trip to eternity
Two jaundiced eyes on my father's chipped plate,
Or butter for scrambled then cover 'em with catsup;
No resemblance here to the Faberge eggs
Covered with diamonds, rubies and pearls
For the pleasure of the Russian royal family.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

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