The Farmer's Boy and the Purple Egg
A farmer's son was once tending to his mother's hens,
Collecting their eggs to sell,
At his family's road-side market stand when,
He found a purple egg with a rotten smell.
The boy looked around at all the female foul,
Perhaps a mutant hen had delivered this egg,
Although it wasn't gold, perhaps the egg could wow,
Some wealthy hobbyist who would for the egg beg.
The peculiar egg was polk-a-dotted with greenish spots,
And reeked like a port-a-lu,
But for some reason that the boy knew not,
He decided to make it into a stew.
For the egg was massive, maybe one foot tall,
And in width the same as its height,
It looked like a putrid soccer ball,
Played with maybe by witches in the night.
So the boy grabbed from a cupboard a large pot,
And lit a flame beneath the oven's coils,
And poured in some water when he thought,
"Should this egg be poached or hard boiled?"
He decided instead to make an egg-drop soup,
With this heinous egg that was sitting in heated water,
For the boy was tired of farming and wanted this goop,
To prove that magic was real as it was in Harry Potter.
He stirred the rotten concoction with a branch,
Of hazel for added dramatic effect,
Added some salt and vinegar from inside the raised-ranch,
Where his family had been obliviosely kept.
The vinegar dissolved the flourescent shell,
Whose hues of purple and green had swirled,
Into a mauve-colored vomit solvent from hell,
And steamed an odor which made his hair curl.
Giggling to himself, he ignored the stench,
As he fancied himself a warlock,
And once it was done he pulled up a bench,
To sit as he added in some chicken stock.
After a few tireless minutes the boy decided it was done,
So he grabbed a bowl and a silver spoon,
Ladled some up and ate it with a cheeseburger bun,
Which he dipped into the disgusting soup.
The boy soon realized that the egg was not magic,
As his breath stopped and skin turned red,
For the goopy soup he had made led to the tragic,
End of this boy who dropped immediately dead.
Had he realized that magic was the power to make plants grow,
And the strength to care for your cows and chickens,
He certainly would have seen the egg and known,
That whatever ate it would surely be sickened.
Copyright © Beej Simrov | Year Posted 2017
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