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.