THE EGG

In the quiet cradle of the morning sun,
A humble egg, by dawn’s grace, began.
Pablo’s brush, in colors bold and bright,
Dances with words, a poet’s gentle light.

Ode to the egg, a canvas pristine,
A vessel of life, a mystery unseen.
In Picasso’s hands, angles and curves,
A symphony of shapes, a creation that serves.

A fragile orb, in the artist’s gaze,
A metaphor for life, in myriad ways.
Shell, a fortress, guarded and strong,
Yet within, a universe waiting to belong.

Ethereal strokes, a poet’s inked refrain,
Capturing the essence, the joy and pain.
Noble laureate’s words, a lyrical dance,
An ode to the egg, a timeless romance.

Picasso’s vision, a fractured delight,
Breaking barriers, revealing the light.
Nobel laureate’s verses, a delicate weave,
Celebrating life that the egg does conceive.

In the quiet cradle of the morning’s birth,
A collaboration, a masterpiece of worth.
Egg, a symbol, profound and pure,
In the hands of genius, an everlasting allure.

:: 11.11.2023 ::