Gods Golden Butter Poem by Mark Heathcote

I've been interned like an egg-
waiting to be cracked open for breakfast
but surely soon, I'll be frying.

The lord, he'll tuck in and lay me down.
Like toasted soldiers on his big expansive table
oh, I'll be like fresh oven-baked bread.

And all that inclement weather outside
won't matter, one iota at all
that I'm like a scrambled egg inside.

I've been interned like an egg.
So long I want to get-cracked
get fried in God's golden butter.

Get those old loving feelings once again.
Like when your lover serves you,
two-sunny side-up eggs 10: 30 am Sunday morn.

Desire in her eyes speaks of a silver moon
in another time when inclement weather
could never haunt you.

When clouds were always breaking like sunny yolks
those times with only cherubs and, angels no ghosts.