A   Sketch

I  drew  a  meticulously   observed

Long drawn quill of  a  bird

On the  broken white eggshell.

Brush breaths life into

Lifeless  outer ring, wails

For  the loss  of life.

Else a  beautiful chic

Would have turned out.

The running jell

Can you call it?

Spiraling  on the

Pan, dissipated  into

Edible with  pepper

And salt on it. The  quill

Joins  my bemoaning,

Adding  to the sign

On the shell.