I do not like the way you slide,
I do not like your soft inside,
I do not like you many ways,
And I could do for many days
Without a soft-boiled egg.
With their yolks and whites all runny
They are looking at me funny.
Lying face-down on the plate
On their stomachs there they wait.
Poached eggs on toast, why do you shiver
With such a funny little quiver?
I eat as well as I am able,
But some falls underneath the table.
With so much suffering today
Why do them any other way?
- Russell Hoban
The Random House Book of Poetry for Children