Frying pan “limerick”

This actually the dream of an unfertilized egg as it sits on my kitchen counter, waiting to be poached.

A frying pan is fine to see
when it holds food for you and me.
But if chance upon it bare?
Gird your loins! O beware!
It may be you it hopes to fricassee.

Authorial notes:

The meter in this is a wreck. I love writing limericks and forgetting the standard rhythm we all know and love. Instead we end up with… whatever that is.

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