At evening he put on his shoes
and walked over the tender fields carrying
five speckled bird’s eggs nestled in his hat.

She was older but shy. She didn’t speak
as she cradled the eggs in her hands.
When he turned to go, she said, “Come back.”

The next twilight she stood on the porch
waiting for him
a handkerchief-wrapped present in her hands.

“A small cake” she said “made from the eggs,”
and he walked home through the dark
too full to whistle or sing.