I wonder where I put those eggs?

I hid them much too well,

If only I had longer legs,

But then, what if I fell?

I thought I hid them over here,

Beneath that prickly vine,

But then I changed my mind for fear,

Of hurting friends of mine.

Oh there they are, already found,

And laid into a dish,

All types of eggs there do abound,

As fine as you could wish.

Some homemade eggs, some done by pros,

An alabaster prize,

And not to be outdone by those,

The quail egg’s tiny size.

I might just have to start again

And get some fresh farm eggs, 

And even though I wish in vain,

I’d love to have long legs.

 

I simply can’t improve on these,

The hens’ eggs are so sweet,

Not done with paint, or laid with ease,

This lovely Easter treat.