Chapter Three: The Goose's Prize

The cottager checks on his last goose after winter to find a shocking surprise.

A week or two later, the winter had passed.

The clouds fled away, and the sun shone at last.

The villagers’ market was quickly revived

To circulate produce and beasts that survived.

 

The lovely enchantress looked down from her home

And smiled while watching the cottager roam

Across his small yard to the cage for his bird

In case, by some miracle, it had endured.

 

He peered through the wire and looked for the goose,

Expecting its life to be gone or reduced.

His eyes scanned the feathery floor of the pen…

And stopped on a sight ne’er before seen by men.

 

An egg--just one egg--stood erect in the fluff.

The goose lay behind, looking healthy enough;

But the cottager didn’t believe what he saw

Until the sun’s beam scattered any eye’s flaw.

 

The beam from the sun pushed its way through the sky

Aimed at the cottager’s makeshift bird-sty.

It hit the egg square on the peak of its shell

And shone like a star in the dark of the cell.

 

He opened the hatch with his trembling hand

And picked up the egg as if made of fine sand,

And holding it close to his watery eyes

He started to shout in delighted surprise.

 

“It can’t be!  It can’t be!” he repeated with glee

As he leapt in the air, clicked his heels, crying “Wee!”

He held the egg close to his sternum with pride

And, whooping persistent, he hurried inside.

 

 He held the egg out to his wife without words.

She turned from the stovetop, where curdling curds,

And stared at the egg with expression unmatched

And immediat’ly asked, “Did you shut up the hatch?”

 

He ran back outside, leaving her with the prize,

And closed up the cage, where the goose didn’t rise

From its comfortable spot on the floor of the pen,

And then instantly turned and went inside again.

 

“Is it real?” asked his wife on his hasty return.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I know how to learn.”

He took up the egg and, caressing its shell,

Grinned like mad and said, “Yes, it is real!  I can tell!

 

“My father was poor, but my uncle was rich--

He started a business of spreading road pitch--

And I can remember one day in the spring,

He paid us a visit, and showed me his ring.

 

“It was, until now, the most beautiful sight

I’d ever encountered.  My juvenile plight

To Uncle was if I could hold in my hand

That most precious jewelry I thought was so grand.

 

“I pleaded and plead ‘til I got his permission

To handle the ring made with artful precision.

I held it and stroked it, caressed it with care,

And never forgot its fine texture so rare.

 

“And this little egg that our little goose laid,

It feels like the ore of which that ring was made!

My wife whom I love, lies I never have told:

I’m sure that this egg is composed of pure gold!”

Author's Note

to be continued...