What is an egg, but a place to start,
Nestled under a mother's heart?
What is a nest, but a place to be,
Surrounded by those whose love is free?
What is a chick, but a beginning new,
Fresh and sweet as the morning dew?
What is a pullet but a lady who waits,
For that day when she too can say;
What is an egg but a place to start,
Nestled under a mother's heart?
- Sheryl DéLeon SoRelle
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