Boy And Egg Poem by Naomi Shihab Nye
Boy And Egg
Every few minutes, he wants
to march the trail of flattened rye grass
back to the house of muttering
hens. He too could make
a bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so fresh
it felt hot in his hand and he pressed it
to his ear while the other children
laughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,
so little yet, too forgetful in games,
ready to cry if the ball brushed him,
riveted to the secret of birds
caught up inside his fist,
not ready to give it over
to the refrigerator
or the rest of the day.
This is a giant poem about a little boy. I cannot select just one line - the poem's every line adheres to each other and has the whole in its part. It is so stunning- -it rivals any of the great classic poems.
This poem is great! Why have other people voted it so low? Did you know you can delete all those votes and start over? That's what I would do if I were you. I'm going to add it to my favorite poem list.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 3:40:28 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Well articuated and nicely brought forth.