As the folks lined up for the potluck supper,
Ms. Mabel cried out, “Oh! Where is my tupper?
The clear plastic box with the deviled eggs –
has anyone seen it? Please help me, I beg!”
Ms. Linda piped up, “Did you leave them at home?”
“No, they’re here,” Mabel sighed, “unless eggs can roam.”
By now, word had spread to the back of the line,
and churchgoers were starting to weep and pine.
Johnny moaned, “without eggs, this meal can’t be great,
we’ll have nothing but jello and beans on our plates.”
Ms. Dorothy recalled a similar time,
when someone had brought a key pie with no lime.
They caused such a ruckus that the pastor came in,
crying, “Brothers and sisters! What is this din?”
“I can’t find my eggs,” Ms. Mabel explained,
“and I fear I’ve caused everyone terrible pain.”
Pastor Smith chuckled, and lifted his hands.
“Everyone! Everyone! I now understand
that all this commotion is over a dish.
So to wallow in strife would be most remiss.
"These eggs that you speak of shall not be mourned,
since they’re named for the enemy of our Lord.
Rather, let me propose a church-wide fast,
For the last will be first, and the first will be last.”
Then all the churchfolk got down on their knees,
and praised the Almighty, their souls to keep.
They recalled it was good to go without,
and one fervent sister let out a shout.
“No eggs day” was remembered by all
as a time when hearts stretched, and souls grew tall.
Though no one wished the event would repeat,
it went in the annals of buffet history.