Faberge Eggs (Poetry)

Sophisticated and ornate,
it took a craftsman to create
bejewelled eggs by order of
the ill-starred house of Romanov.

So fabulously intricate
with diamonds and rubies set,
enamelled shells, exquisite, thin
and always a surprise within.

The playthings of a dynasty
begrudged their bloodline's luxury,
each frivolous, expensive gift
a red rag to an anarchist.

The eggs were plundered, swapped for guns
by Bolsheviks akin to Huns
who stockpiled treasure, traded gold
when art and culture left them cold.

Such trinkets fetch a pretty price,
their clever bourgeois artifice
and royal connections guarantee
a niche in knick knack history.

Ironic fortune turns around,
returning them to Russian ground -
reclaimed not by an iron fist
but philanthrope industrialist.