A fragile robin’s egg lies in my path, unbroken

about forty-five feet below it’s mother’s nest.

Stepping over the unseen fetus, the first rays

of dawn reflected it’s tranquil blue, cooler than

the required mother’s 104 degree feathered belly.

No more than fourteen short days before escape

from that hollow inside to inevitable blue skies.

Then, there must be feedings every fifteen minutes.

Impossible to even contemplate.

Now late for my classroom full of disabled

children, also demanding attention, slowly learning

their way out, I hurry along surprised

to find my palm cradling a tiny blue shell.

Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-little-blue-shell/