What mask shall I pull out Of my closet for this Purim? A comic sober scholar, or a lout? Or the scabrous master of the Harem? To which of my plenteous souls Shall I address this annual ask To specify the moments’ various roles To inquire about which particular mask? The businessman market constrained? Or the student of ancient texts? The father who labors to sustain? Or the befuddled observer of political sects? Let me throw them all off this day And don a multicolored cloak; Let not those masks right now weigh So heavy as to spoil the Purim joke, Or sober up the joyful Purim play, By which God’s grace is now spoke.
Happy Purim, O kaleidoscopic Dennis!