The lines of dust on our eggs in summer are like Crow's feet on a loved one's face.
The tiny lines through the skin are canyons full of memories.
What does the egg remember?
The wonderful day of the chicken, full of sun, freedom and laughter, happiness, and tears of joy?
The tiny lines through the skin are canyons full of memories.
What does the egg remember?
The wonderful day of the chicken, full of sun, freedom and laughter, happiness, and tears of joy?
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