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My Eggs
 
The hunter comes a-poaching
in search of emerald treasure
to decorate rich nests in cities,
give some nabob pleasure.

I, old Papa Emu,
guard patiently my nest,
ensuring that the temperature
is what my chicks need best.

A few more weeks before they hatch,
this hunt...not even sport.
They'll steal my lovely emerald eggs
and my babies will abort.

'Tis not for food they take my babes,
oh no...they call it art.
In the shell they'll delicately etch designs,
my chicks doomed from the start.

I shall kick and, in protest,
inflict some pain and grief;
but for my trouble he prevails.
He wins again...foul thief!



# Footnote...
emu eggs are so big that they would take the place
of about 13 normal sized hen eggs in a recipe
...if you needed 13 eggs.

By cherryk

© 2018 cherryk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - "Out-Side the Box" #14 POV Challenge (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - "Out-Side the Box" #14 POV Challenge (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - "Out-Side the Box" #14 POV Challenge (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - "Out-Side the Box" #14 POV Challenge (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - "Out-Side the Box" #14 POV Challenge (challenge has been closed)


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