by Geof the Cheeky Breakfast Bard

I cracked beneath the morning light,
A fragile shell, not built for fight.
But heat was kind, the pan was slow,
And flipped me soft, with golden glow.

The spatula, a gentle shove,
Reminded me of push and love.
No need to scramble every part,
Some things are best with tender heart.

The salt came next, a grain of grace,
To season doubt I couldn’t face.
And pepper, bold, with specks of sting,
For truths that bite but still must cling.

I watched the yolk, still whole, still bright.
A sun that held its shape through night.
Though life may burn and plates may clatter,
I learned: stay soft, and you still matter.