EGGCELLENT
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 12:15 pm
EGGCELLENT
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
Its place was where it was right now, tucked tidily away
with photographs of dogs and kids in the lounge room display.
Most folks were unaware it was a priceless Faberge.
To them it was a pretty thing,
a jewelled egg, a bit of bling,
a piece that Mother cleaned each spring
plus her old silver tray.
When Mother died they had a sale of all her brick a brac
for none of them had cared to take her things, nor time to pack.
The dealers came, they browsed. Noted the jug that had a crack.
They looked as if they’d seen a ghost…
It was one thing they coveted most.
‘The greatest tragedy’ – they’d boast.
“twas seen as a knick knack.’
The cupboard held its secret well. This remnant from her past
which she had viewed most every day. Yet nobody had asked
how came she by this pretty thing? Some lover she’d entranced
had bought for her this precious gift
she’d loved him, but gave him short shift
he was from marriage fresh adrift.
His past quiet unenhanced.
She’d kept the silence all the years and soon she wed another.
The egg oft sprinkled with her tears as she recalled her lover,
the one who stole her heart away as she would soon discover.
Her husband was a good kind man
devoid of romance with a plan
to multiply, be better than
the man she loved. His Brother.
Her children now were grown and wed. Two boys - neither Tom Sawyer.
Each one had diligently bred. Her eldest boy a lawyer,
the youngest owned a company - he was a good employer.
But romantic none of them were
and little use they had for her.
And fripperies? Excuse me Sir
these two were like their Father.
And so the jewelled egg was sold. Its worth was not perceived
by the three men who sold it off. No doubt they’d feel aggrieved
if they had just an inkling of how well they were deceived.
But up above, united souls
became as one – two halves now whole
found the proceedings very droll.
And neither of them grieved.
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
Its place was where it was right now, tucked tidily away
with photographs of dogs and kids in the lounge room display.
Most folks were unaware it was a priceless Faberge.
To them it was a pretty thing,
a jewelled egg, a bit of bling,
a piece that Mother cleaned each spring
plus her old silver tray.
When Mother died they had a sale of all her brick a brac
for none of them had cared to take her things, nor time to pack.
The dealers came, they browsed. Noted the jug that had a crack.
They looked as if they’d seen a ghost…
It was one thing they coveted most.
‘The greatest tragedy’ – they’d boast.
“twas seen as a knick knack.’
The cupboard held its secret well. This remnant from her past
which she had viewed most every day. Yet nobody had asked
how came she by this pretty thing? Some lover she’d entranced
had bought for her this precious gift
she’d loved him, but gave him short shift
he was from marriage fresh adrift.
His past quiet unenhanced.
She’d kept the silence all the years and soon she wed another.
The egg oft sprinkled with her tears as she recalled her lover,
the one who stole her heart away as she would soon discover.
Her husband was a good kind man
devoid of romance with a plan
to multiply, be better than
the man she loved. His Brother.
Her children now were grown and wed. Two boys - neither Tom Sawyer.
Each one had diligently bred. Her eldest boy a lawyer,
the youngest owned a company - he was a good employer.
But romantic none of them were
and little use they had for her.
And fripperies? Excuse me Sir
these two were like their Father.
And so the jewelled egg was sold. Its worth was not perceived
by the three men who sold it off. No doubt they’d feel aggrieved
if they had just an inkling of how well they were deceived.
But up above, united souls
became as one – two halves now whole
found the proceedings very droll.
And neither of them grieved.
....Oh well, I spose it didn't go to the dealers like Maureen's Fabergé.
