EasterEggOne
TheFalconeEGGPoemI
For
EWE Easter Sunday
IN
a series of three egg poems it stormed. It rained ICE into the desert
there is still ICE there on the hill side in mye distance the stuff
pelted my covers all night forcing me into a fighting crouch to stay
alive eye resembled nothing lest except a baby falcone inside her egg
before She hatches eye waited for the daylight coming trying to
accept the fate of all homeless people when then the sun arose all
around me long enought to let me dry mye things before putting toys
away when the falcone come she sat her distance preening drying
feathers twisting head just giving me theye theye theye she turns her
head this way and that sort of drinking eye with heart and sight so
nice it was to see mye falcone scrye. It cleaned mye heart of hate
and once again renewed eye faced this Easter Sunday day. Iff this
were not enought an added ancedoted ed.note.ed see charlaxfabels the
falcon cry fable number one then continue on to egg poem too and
thence to number three or egg poem thrice.
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