There was a ditch not far from home, Where bird eggs rested broken and warm Crackling under bicycle tires. Hard, like juniper potpourri. A fragrance that often liked my nose. The mistake of biting one as a child. The boy with the long blonde hair Falls from his trusty steed: A rusty blue Raleigh. Scuffing a knee before the sunrise, Picking shell-bits from his nostrils. A most unwelcome invasion of privacy.