ode to egg lady

My first egg lady was a nurse Nancy;
She dropped off several dozen when we 7 communed together;
The order reduced a few when numbers whittled to 5, 4, 3, now 2;
Sometimes Mom and Dad parting-gifted me a dozen pair,
Or toted a 3-carton greeting with loving care;
But when I left home, in my heart was a gaping, brown-egg despair.

My next egg lady encounter was brief,
Only a handful of weeks to be less than exact,
I don't even know her name in fact;
No-name's yolks were orange-ripened hearty,
But now that summer has ripened to crisp autumn,
her hens' production is stalling like a dwindling party.

I met my new egg lady last week on a stroller walk,
The front-lawn ad vanished months before I could knock;
So I presumed the free-range birds were out of commission;
But with a new-found mama courage I launched my tire-path mission;
Gently rapping the front door, girding my politest behavior,
A kind, middle-aged woman answered: Audra, my egg savior!
She unveiled her brown, white, and speckled pearls,
And sent me on my way with 2 cartons of treasure,
A tooth-shaped paper with name and number to unfurl,
and the smile-warmth assurance to pay at my leisure;

For dinner, we ate a delectable omelette beyond measure,
I wish everyone knew an egg lady with pleasure.