'Twas the night after Seder, and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The matzah, the farfel, the haroset I ate,
After both the Sedarim, had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked over to shul (less a walk than a lumber),
I remembered the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The turkey with gravy, the beef nicely rared,
The wine and the matzo balls, the Migdal pareve cheese
The way I'd never said, "I've had enough; no more, if you please."
As I tied myself into my apron again
spied my reflection and disgustedly,
then I said to myself, "you're such a weak wimp,"
"You can't show up at shul resembling a blimp!"
So--away with the last of the meatballs so sweet,
Get rid of the turkey, chopped liver and meat.
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have any more macaroons from the box,
I can't wait til next week. (Ah, the bagels and lox.)
I won't have any luxion, farfel or p'chah,
I'll munch on a carrot or wire shut my own jaw.
It's a three day yom tov and shabbas is still
Ahead of me with another fleshiks meal to fulfill.
If I have to cook one more chicken, I think I will riot.
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