Three days till Easter Sunday comes round,
I get to use the hiding places I’ve found.
The egg-finders this year will not find a yolk,
Unless they are quite detectifying folk.
The easy ones are gonna be up a tree,
Up on a hill or under the sea.
You can find those if you look real hard,
Or they might write you a hint-postcard.
The trickier ones, if you want them caught:
Persistence, grit and lateral thought.
Some I will transform inside out,
One’s a stone or a crack in the grout.
I bet you’ll miss the one like your dad,
It’s a good copy, though, don’t be sad.
If I’m not lazy, one’s your house,
And one is a normal egg of a louse.
Some I’ll hide inside your mind,
In your memories an egg you’ll find.
The first time you tried a hazelnut bar,
An egg on the table, not that far.
Last week when you forgot what to say,
It’s on the shelf where your words are at bay.
Some I’ll hide in the dreams you have,
Where you run on the fields with a newborn calf.
Maybe the one with moving to Spain,
Where you conceive of the plastic brain.
Some I’ll hide in pure abstraction,
Beauty of a song or calculated traction.
One big one in the color of yellow,
One in anger and one in mellow.
That’s not tough, have a good hunt,
IF you find them all, it’ll be quite a stunt.