Why is it that
on Passover night,
it seems we don’t know
to do anything right?
We don't eat our meals
the regular way,
as one would do
on any other day.

All other nights
we’re apt to eat,
all different sorts of bread or cereal treat.
Anything from purple pizza
that tastes like a pickle,
crumbly crackers
and pink pumpernickel;
sassafras sandwich
and tiger on rye,
fifty falafels in pita,
fresh-fried,
with peanut-butter
and tangerine sauce
spread on each side
up, down, - then across.
And toasted whole-wheat bread
with taste of liver and ducks,
and crumpets and dumplings,
and bagels with lox;
and doughnuts with one hole
or doughnuts with four,
and cake with six layers
plus windows and doors.
Oh, Why on all nights
we eat all kinds of bread,
but tonight of all nights
do we munch matzah instead?
On all other nights
Our mouths can devour
vegetables, green things,
bushes and flowers,
lettuce that's leafy
and candy-striped spinach,
fresh stalks of celery
(Have more when you're finished!)
Cabbage that's flown
from far jungles of Maynome
by a polka-dot bird
who can't find his way home,
daisies and roses
and inside-out grass
and artichoke hearts
that’s simply first class!
Sixty asparagus tips
served in glasses
with anchovy sauce
plus sticky molasses--
But on Passover night
you’d never consider
eating an herb
that wasn't all bitter.

On all other nights
you’d probably flip
if anyone cared how often you dip.
Some days I only dip
one bloopity egg in a teaspoon of vinegar
mixed with nutmeg,
Sometimes we take
more than ten thousand tails
of the Yakkity-birds
that are hunted in Wales,
and dip them in vats
full of Mumbegum juice.
Then we feed them to Harold,
our six-legged moose.
Or we don't dip at all!
We don't ask your advice.
So why on this night
do we dip twice?

On all other nights
we can sit as we please,
on our heads, on our elbows,
on our backs or our knees.
Or hang by our toes
from the tail of a Glump,
or on top of a camel
with one or two humps.
With our foot on the table,
our nose on the floor,
one ear in the window
and one out the door,
doing somersaults
over greasy knishes
or dancing a jig
without breaking the dishes.

Please, Just one last question--
On all other nights
we sit nicely when dining--
So why on this night
must we all be reclining?


Dr. Schmooz is no relation to the similar sounding and trademarked Dr. Seuss.