Dreaming of eggs

Last night
a flying serpent,
full bellied,
flapping its fearsome wings
came hurtling towards me.
Next, two eggs appeared
neither white nor brown
but some strange in-between colour,
the grey my father once declared
did not exist.
the eggs settled side by side
and sat staring out at me.
They seemed so perfect,
so delicious
though neither had yet been cracked,
so it wasn’t clear
whether the yolks would
be good or putrid.
Long ago
in my crazy days
I used to call eggs abortions
which did not go down well
at our breakfast table.
Now I think that maybe,
if I sit long enough on these,
something might stir.
Take flight
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