Oh, perfect orb of morning light, Whose golden heart ignites my sight, In skillet or in pan you gleam, A simple, sacred, breakfast dream. You crack with gentle, yielding grace, And spill your sun into my space. Whites like clouds, yolks like dawn’s first fire, You answer hunger’s quiet desire. No crown, no gem, no regal throne, Could match the way you shine alone. Boiled, poached, or fried with care, Egg, you are love beyond compare.