Fall and spring particularly inspire the dilettantish poet in me. To pay tribute to the season of birth, death and rebirth and in honor of my daughter, Rachel, who is the reigning World Champion Easter Egg Hunter, I present the following shape poem that I appropriately entitled “Egg”.

 

Second 

to none, except 

perhaps the chicken 

(and even that’s debatable) 

it is nature’s perfect food. Fried,

coddled, scrambled or poached atop 

toast, bagel or McMuffin, I urge you 

to breakfast today. Lest I have it on my 

face, I’ll remind you of omelette, quiche,

frittata, custard and souffle.Try them hard-

boiled or soft, dropped, shirred or deviled.

Taste them raw in a smoothie or nog. And

to prevent them from being kept in only 

one basket, I’ll be a good one and 

mention egg roll, chocolate

egg and, of course,

caviar.