Two Blue Eggs

Upon a wet grey and drippy
November market Saturday
the Widow Wyile was pleased to find
twas the week heritage chicken eggs
with their sun-orange yolks
were available for sale 

As the vendor ritually inspected
the carton contents      each dozen
displayed a delightful assortment
of shell colours
ranging from white to
light sand
       an egg brown we might call typical
          her favourite umber speckled
                  rich reddish-brown
                        to the thrill
                        of pale blue
             a mix of five in all
delivering visual pleasure
on a dreary morning
such splendid variety
            joyful relief
from the usual uniformity
when such cartons are opened 
a cue to ponder and recall
the corresponding varied finery
of plumage the hens of this flock
     pondeuses d’oeufs multicolores
wander about in cluck cluck
clucking and scratching
on a small mixed farm
up the north mountain

So upon her return home
as a rare treat
she selected not one
but two delectable blue eggs
for her breakfast
thinking her thanks
to hens and farmers

With appreciative
gustatory relish
and a sense of good fortune
for some of the things
still right in the world
she ate those light blues
          soft-boiled
        accompanied
          by buttery
Boulangerie La Vendéene
           croissant
and a slice of Speck
that she’d call Schinken
           either way
            supreme 

And that
is the Saturday tale
of two beauteous
blue eggs
ingested