As he slowly sat up and got out of bed,
His hands unsteady as they held his splitting head.
He wondered if at the seudah he had too much to drink,
He couldn’t remember – and it hurt to even think.
He knew there were l’chaims, and many a hearty toast,
Before and during and after the mouth-watering roast.
And then there were those bachurim on a mission of collection,
For this ba’alebuste, post-Purim was no surprise.
Cookies in the bedrooms and popcorn in the den,
Hamantashen in the study, and goo on Tatti’s pen.
Shoes prints on the carpet, brought in from outside,
By eager children on their mishloach manos ride.
The ba’al habayis grabbed his hat and quickly fled to shul,
But as his ezer k’negdo knew – that would be a ness.
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