Here lies an egg that never flew wings.
Who held potential to have clawed and won.
Whence it’s owner, a child, wanting to cling,
Probable flying wings consisted trust and brawn.
Hope kept back that egg, warm below feathers.
Still in youth form, it was helpless without care.
Spoken harassment wore my baby to withers.
A tyrant war caring to leave me in despair
Sweat and blood purer than pasty shell.
Wrong fate just before gameness taking flight
No way to foresee the child’s pain and yell.
Here lies the egg cared for in hopes of a strong might.
I hope to rise to my peak in time,
Whereas my hen enjoys watching me climb.