I like Easter Eggs,
Especially those by Faberge,
They're more decorative than wooden pegs,
And much more recherche.
I've got over a dozen,
Heirlooms from Sebastian Romanov.
I popped them in the oven
For three minutes and a half.
I prefer my eggs runny,
So I can dip in a soldier.
But these Faberges are funny.
They refuse to rupture.
I am wondering a bit...
Maybe they weren't laid by chickens.
Nor made out of chocolate.
They're not easy pickings.
So I've put them back
On my rockpool mantlepiece.
And now I note from their plaque,
That they came from Russian geese.
That explains their inedibility,
And their coating of gold.
It gives them an air of credibility
Even if they can't be casseroled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem