Egg Poem by Mark R Slaughter
Egg
Dead, it feeds me -
You
Them
All -
Its protein
Alive, the new growth
Will be a phenotype -
Mirror of its genes
Feathered construct
To channel more
Or less
Of what is essentially
The same
Shell protects
Where it can
Until it gives,
Concaved or
Convexed
To feed it or us
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2014
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: egg
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4/24/2024 12:03:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
