Had to dig around a bit to find this...

I suppose it isn’t strange
That we’re so attached
To the shells we fall into.

While we’re inside it
We can’t know what it’s like outside,
And if we decide to leave
We can’t climb back out,
So the impatient ones break down the walls.

When they want to tell what it’s like
They find that the shell is gone
And really, they can’t remember where they left it,
Anyway.

So it goes.

And yet... are they truly lost?
Does the hawk return to the egg?
Yet the hawk is definite and real.
And the unborn chicks hear the shrieks of their parents,
And yearn to fly.

We’re not like that.
Not really.