Purim

QUEEN ESTHER—so the Scriptures say—

Fasted and prayed for many a day;

For Haman would her people slay,

On Purim.

Of her good deeds I need not tell,

Nor how she did the riots quell;

Suffice to know she felt quite well,

On Purim.

And Haman was straightway bereft

Of wealth acquired by fraud and theft;

In fact, he was quite badly left

On Purim.

This tale has run for quite a time,

And chestnut-cries may blast my rhyme,

Bad verse, howe’er, is not a crime,

On Purim.

And many things we never do,

And many sights we seldom view,

Are done and seen—enjoyed, too,

On Purim.

The ultra-rabbi, now the style,

And th’ old-time rabbi without guile,

May greet each other with a smile,

On Purim.

The pious man, religion’s prop,

Who lectures when and how to stop,

May take, himself, an extra drop,

On Purim.

The youth who does for “Ethics” pine,

And of our Faith says: “’Tis not mine,”

Is, strange enough, well up in line

On Purim.

And editors, who never pray,

Who “squeech” each other every day,

Put hate and rancor far away,

On Purim.

The rich relax, the poor receive,

The mourners smile and cease to grieve,

And all our misdeeds we retrieve (?)

On Purim.

Long live Queen Esther’s glorious fame;

For Jews in practice, Jews in name,

All seem to get there, just the same,

On Purim.