So it continues

Shelled oval: symbol of fertility,
perfect sunny side up, beside bacon.
Delicious riddles: edibility,
and versatility for the takin’.
A world of gloopy, gooey, smelly gold
which once runs, spreads its distinct aroma
that’s filled this ancient earth since days of old.
Broken, rotten, dark: a poignant odour
and, yet, these treasure chests worthy of risk,
blended with sugar, cinnamon sweetened,
spread in frying pan or beaten with whisk.
Cheap, caged, mass produced; free-ranged, free, global,
symbol of fertility: shelled oval

Sonnet 22 of 100

On monday¬†evening, I crunched up egg shells, boxed them up and whizzed them across to my parents. My mum keeps chickens and chickens peck on crushed egg-shells (without the whites) to fortify their next batch of eggs. My mum kindly gave me a dozen eggs, I boxed up with new eggs then whizzed back home. With inspiration lacking and muse hiding, I thought this cycle was suitable enough to write a light-hearted sonnet on (if sonnets can be light-hearted…) And, well, I find it pretty neat how eggs and egg shells can continue to be recycled in such a way

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