Robin Egg Blue

By all accounts, accounts it’s true

Not that it matters much, much to the

Blue To the

Blue, to the

Blue Heather

Burns went, went to the field

To gather robin’s eggs, eggs for her meal

For her meal, for her meal

Walking, she thought about

A coward, years ago “

Saint Jude, when will

I learn?”

A snake side-winded across her broken path

But Heather knew better and thought: “

What is done is done, what’s done is done”

By all accounts, accounts it’s fine “

One egg for

Saint Jude, one egg is mine, one is mine, one is mine”

She saw a nest, nest in an elm

Not-so high, yet another realm

Another realm, another realm

Reaching up, she felt

Two eggs with her fingers

And lightly picked them out

And lowering, one fell down “

One for Jude!”, the snake said

But Heather knew better and thought: “

What is done is done, what’s done is done” “

Can’t we raise the

Dead anew?

Call me Robin

Egg Blue”

By all accounts, accounts it’s through

Not that it matters much to

Robin Egg

Blue Robin

Egg Blue,

Robin Egg

Blue The snake followed her home

Along the broken path

The field needed to be burned

Inside, she set the egg down “

Should I not have been hungry?”

But Heather knew better and thought: “

What is done is done, what’s done is done”