Eggs, Mother?
Robert Pollard
Common watching
Illuminated cheeks
Quiver with grace
Needing big peep holes
Utterly golden
Saintly view
Beneath a surface
All brand new
Eggs, Mother?
London apples
And London kings
Bless her pie
For cry she did not
Eggs, Mother?
Bless her pie
For cry she did not
Bless her cry for cry
For cry her eyes out
Eggs, Mother?
Bless her eyes for crying them out