This morning I was sitting in my chair,
eating eggs and drinking breakfast tea,
when one small boy with tousled sandy hair
came down the stairs and sat on top of me.
He took my fork into his little hand,
and told me that I ought to move my book
lest it get wet; who knows where eggs might land,
and anything nearby might get some gook.
I thanked him for his sweet consideration,
and offered to saute an egg for him,
but much to my surprise and consternation,
he looked at me as though I'd grown quite dim
and motherhood had turned my brains to fluff;
THAT was his egg, and one egg was enough!
Cuddy; a sonnet for St. Cuthbert
1 day ago