The last of the sunny-sides-up
'Twas your birthday
the sixtyfifth
March twentytwo
retirement too
Morning came
living love aflame
breakfast the game
I asked, with teeth holding flower
What should it be, dear
sunny-side-up, your answer
and I was gripped with fear
cracked the egg
into the pan
and waited
for sun-up ripening
yolk still running
Alas! the white burnt
turned to black
just like me
poem by Mark Nwagwu
Added by Poetry Lover
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