Good Friday man,
Places his basket of eggs on the ground,
He helps another soul carry his cross,
Not worried if he'll misplace or earn loss,
Just a struggling man,
In need of a hand,
He watches the condemned raised,
Before slowly drifting to peace,
He returns to his basket,
His heart sunken deep,
His eggs are now painted,
In beautiful colours steeped,
The seeds of his good deed reaped.