Those deviled eggs, you love them so,
but they hold stories, don’t you know.
Of times when grannies couldn’t hold back tears,
they’d tell you stories of painful years.
They’d boil those eggs so the middle was right,
they’d peel those shells without a fight.
But as they’d peel, so would layers,
and with each shell cracked,
Grandma’d share her tales.
While sitting slouched in her velvet gown,
she’d peel those eggs, while tears fell down.
The tears would drip into the bowl,
and I would think, I should console.
She’d cry about her distant past,
and how her daughter grew so fast.
She’d cry about her man being gone,
and how the nights were terribly long.
So when you ask for deviled eggs,
remember there’s a price to pay;
a saddened granny took her time,
and peeled those eggs while she was cryin’.