The last of the sunny-sides-up

'Twas your birthday
the sixtyfifth
March twentytwo
retirement too

Morning came
living love aflame
breakfast the game

I asked, with teeth holding flower
What should it be, dear
sunny-side-up, your answer
and I was gripped with fear

cracked the egg
into the pan
and waited
for sun-up ripening
yolk still running

Alas! the white burnt
turned to black
just like me

poem by Mark Nwagwu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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