the last egg

spring comes secretly.
soft rain, gentle breeze, warm sun—
frost dissolves away

reveals damp, rich earth—
buds unfurl their tight wrapped skins
show their green-leaf hearts.

all radiates life.
hatchlings break fragile cradles
attacking the warmth,

so small, so strong. four,
six, eight, ten, twelve—last egg sways
slower, slowest, still.

unborn, forgotten, empty.
winter’s shadow lingering.

line count: 14