The Easter Egg Hunt

a poem by Linda Bates Terrell, USA

He lingered at the gate
Holding, little empty basket of tempting fate
He looks around in wonder
He yearns for the starting whistle
He so longs for a new bicycle or waggon
Any prize would then surely do

He lingers now restlessly at the gate
He just can't hardly wait
Eggs strewn all about the lawn
For nothing but the childrens fun
He spots it with his eyes so keen
He smugly pretends not to see
It's little golden edges, beneath the
cold wet grass.

The whistle blows, he's in a sudden sprint
He runs so fast, he sees it gleeming
He sees a prize egg glowing, to be is own
He has to get it that prize today.
His opponent is pushing close
Both breathing in a rush
Now he's detemined of a challenging drive
He dives upon it and holds it close
For soon the price will be his alone
He patiently stands in line to see what it will be
He looks around, with anticipations brimming
He then grasps, to see the prize.
It is his new bright blue and gold frisby.

Linda Terrell
March 30, 2010

Not every goal in life we choose to achieve
Will be as rewarding as the challenge
We set out and through it believe.

Linda Terrell/Lindy Bates

"Sorry" Was To Late (the poem)
From The Beginning
"Sorry" Was To Late (short story)

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