For all good things there is a price to pay,

It serves you right you may say,

But when I stuffed myself on each festive meal,

I forgot what my insides would think and my stomach would feel,

The fish balls which would have been nice if not water logged,

And the sweet raison challahs which I secretly hogged,

And because I did not have soup which contained meat,

I couldn’t sit around waiting with nothing to eat,

So I ate more and more bread until it had reached my throat,

And it wasn’t at that stage that I felt my tummy bloat,

There was more fish to be eaten of a different variety,

And lots of healthy cabbage of flatulence notoriety,

Potato kugel and rice to go with the bread,

A meal lacking in carbohydrates could not be said,

I showed vegetarian restraint not eating the chicken,

But it must have been damn tasty from the finger lickin’,

Trifle, fruit salad, pie and ice cream,

A sugarholics perfect dream,

And this was not the end but only the start,

Because each time we sat it was the same a la cart,

After two days of stuffing myself I was surprised to find,

That my stomach had rather rudely changed its mind,

The details would be too much information,

But on the food that had entered was ordered evacuation,

While I sit and recover, no more food I decree,

But on Yom Kippur will my mutinous stomach consent or disagree.

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