Sensitised to all the grubs,
I hadn't seen them in a while,
All bathed in LEDs and pristine paper,
Behind my books and concrete streets,
Far from the simple soil and crawling critters,
Rarely seeing slugs and arching arachnids,

Alas I ventured to domestic dirt,
To the land of green and brown and browner,
To sheer the earthen blanket shorter,
To bare up holes and erect tiny pillars in the soil.

Fried eggs,
Left a little crunchy round the edge,
And spiced thrice with simple salt, pepper and paprika,
Flipped and sizzled in oil,
And interspersed with tiny fragments of egg shell...
Wait a moment...
That doesn't seem right,
We'll get another crack at it tomorrow.