The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Monster Egg

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The egg on the right is a normal size egg. I feel sorry for the hen that laid the other one. I was thinking of switching their feed but not now. We've gotten a few of these and they are always double yolkers.

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Steven R. McEvoy said…
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6:13 PM
Steven R. McEvoy said…
We always buy extra-large eggs here but those look even bigger. We also deliberatly buy double yoke, when I am making Irish Soda Bread. My wife gets a hankering for it ever now and again, and it is the only bread i make from scratch that requires special ingredients.

Steven
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