On the shortest day of the year
The sun takes an extra long lunch,
So long it doesn’t end until
Almost the next day’s brunch.
Head lights and night lights get lots of action
The day of the year that’s shortest.
While that day more than any other is for
golf clubs and lawn mowers the boredest.
It seems like it should be relaxing and yet
There’s always so much around you,
On the year’s shortest day, falling as it does,
Right about when the holidays do.
Still songs like “Oh, What a Night” or “Thank
the Lord for the Nighttime” spread cheer,
Of how happy folks get after early sunset
On the shortest day of the year.
Perhaps the best meal of the year
comes weeks after Turkey Day.
It’s a nest built from all the trimmings
That have not yet by then flown away.
Start with any bits of gobbler left
Toss them in a bowl,
Add a scoop of stuffing, yams, mashed potatoes,
Whatever you’ve got … it’s all gold.
If you still have it, stir in gravy,
Then pour it all in a crust.
Cinch the dough, bake on high, that’s it.
No other meal prep takes less fuss!
It’s the yummiest food recycling
That’s plain easy to get right,
So try Thanksgiving Pie:
Send that old crusty bird back in flight.
UPDATED 3-26-16: To read this poem as a STELLER STORY, click on the photo below.
Last year’s Easter egg hunt
was in the old cornfield.
Now it seems that day
not every egg was revealed
and that from those left back
are this year being born
acres and acres of stalks
sprouting tiny eggcorns.
Nature’s packaged each one
in a shell in a husk,
so cracking the eggcorns
is a rusty padlock fuss.
But once their outer layers
are opened up and clean
the cob yolks deep inside
are like nothing that you’ve seen:
Purple, pink, and yellow,
orange, blue, and jade,
all the prettiest pastels,
every springtime shade.
Just how nature made this magic
Science is still figuring,
but one thing learned so far:
is mighty omelets
from the tiny eggcorns spring.
Eggcorns are the kernel of a colorful Easter breakfast. (Photo: PaC)