Egg Poems

Several years ago I wrote a poem about how disappointed I was to read that eating eggs was bad for you. However, four years later I read that eating eggs wasn't as bad as was thought. So, I wrote another poem in celebration. Here are the two poems in their original form.

On Eggs
(on reading an article in the newspaper
about cholesterol in eggs)

I find myself in a sticky wicket
for eggs to me are just the ticket.
I like them boiled,
I like them fried.
I like the yoke that’s hid inside.
On Easter I like to see them dyed.
I like them mixed up in a custard,
or in the den with Colonel Mustard.
I like the large ones in a stew;
I like the bite size small ones too.
I love them when they’re Benedict
and make quite sure my plate is licked.
In every way they can’t be beat.
For me an egg is the ultimate treat.LEP 1995


On Eggs (Again)
(on reading an article in the newspaper
that says eggs aren’t bad after all)

Well...now they say that eggs are good
Deep down inside, I knew they would.
It makes me sick, it makes me mad
to think of the eggs I could have had
Instead of stuff made from soybean shoots
and other tasteless substitutes.
Instead of slimy oatmeal cakes.
Instead of diet breakfast shakes.
Instead of sliced fried cream of wheat,
Mixed with some strange mystery meat
Flakey corn and puffed up rice,
that look like droppings left by mice.
I ate all these things, you see
Cause they were sposed to be good for me
and now they say that all along
They weren’t right; they got it wrong.
Well I’m just glad I lived to see
That eating eggs is good for me.
And I will eat an egg a day
until the day I pass away.Larry Page 1999