Ode to an Egg
In shells of ivory, smooth and small,
A universe waits, contained in it all.
Fragile as whispers, yet holding the might
To nourish a dawn or give wings to flight.
A cradle of promise, both humble and grand,
Balanced like secrets in the palm of a hand.
Boiled, fried, or whisked into air,
The egg is creation, simple and fair.
It softens the bread, it lifts up the cake,
It thickens the custard, it binds what we make.
But more than its uses, its flavors, its roles,
It tells us of life in the quietest souls.
For every egg carries a story untold,
Of warmth and beginnings, of futures to hold.
A circle, a symbol, an infinite spark—
The egg is a sunrise tucked into the dark.