The old Easter Bunny stopped by my house today
(of course I didn’t recognize him right away)
saying he’d lost track of one of the Michigan Shoemaker kids,
particularly one Kristie A.
He was a rather pleasant looking old hare
in a dusty frock coat with a bowler over one ear
he wore large gold specs that kept sliding down his face
cause his little round nose couldn’t hold them in place.
“Don Stephens is my name,” I said extending my hand.
“Peter C.,” he replied, “at your service my man.”
“I’d love to chat,” he continued, “but I’m running quite late
and I really should be hopping along.”
With this he pulled out a tattered old book
and began flipping the pages with hardly a look.
Stopping at last he cried, “Here tis!
Do you happen to know where Kristie Shoemaker is?”
I said rather proudly, “She lives right here,
but she’s a Stephens now.”
Looking up from his book he gave me a quick scan,
“Eggsactly as I thought, you lucky man!”
Taking out a red pen he made the appropriate correction
saying, “I really must computerize my list.
Thank you good sir, “ he said smoothing his fur
“and now I must bid you good day.”
Then remembering his purpose, he asked a small service,
“Please give this egg to sweet Kristie A.”
With a flip of his hat and a twitch of his nose
he turned and hopped quickly away.
So here’s the egg from Peter C.
And here’s a rose, for my love, from me.
Poetry