Dr. Seuss version of the 4 questions

    (author unknown...)
            Why is it only
            on Passover night
            we never know how
            to do anything right?
            We don't eat our meals
            in the regular ways,
            the ways that we do
            on all other days.
            `Cause on all other nights
            we may eat
            all kinds of wonderful
            good bready treats,
            like big purple pizza
            that tastes like a pickle,
            crumbly crackers
            and pink pumpernickel,
            sassafras sandwich
            and tiger on rye,
            fifty falafels in pita,
            with peanut-butter
            and tangerine sauce
            spread onto each side
            up-and-down, then across,
            and toasted whole-wheat bread
            with liver and ducks,
            and crumpets and dumplings,
            and bagels and lox,
            and doughnuts with one hole
            and doughnuts with four,
            and cake with six layers
            and windows and doors.
            on all other nights
            we eat all kinds of bread,
            but tonight of all nights
            we munch matzah instead.
            And on all other nights
            we devour
            vegetables, green things,
            and bushes and flowers,
            lettuce that's leafy
            and candy-striped spinach,
            fresh silly celery
            (Have more when you're finished!)
            cabbage that's flown
            from the jungles of Glome
            by a polka-dot bird
            who can't find his way home,
            daisies and roses
            and inside-out grass
            and artichoke hearts
            that are simply first class!
            Sixty asparagus tips
            served in glasses
            with anchovy sauce
            and some sticky molasses--
            But on Passover night
            you would never consider
            eating an herb
            that wasn't all bitter.
            And on all other nights
            you would probably flip
            if anyone asked you
            how often you dip.
            On some days I only dip
            one Bup-Bup egg
            in a teaspoon of vinegar
            mixed with nutmeg,
            but sometimes we take
            more than ten thousand tails
            of the Yakkity-birds
            that are hunted in Wales,
            and dip them in vats
            full of Mumbegum juice.
            Then we feed them to Harold,
            our six-legged moose.
            Or we don't dip at all!
            We don't ask your advice.
            So why on this night
            do we have to dip twice?
            And on all other nights
            we can sit as we please,
            on our heads, on our elbows,
            our backs or our knees,
            or hang by our toes
            from the tail of a Glump,
            or on top of a camel
            with one or two humps,
            with our foot on the table,
            our nose on the floor,
            with one ear in the window
            and one out the door,
            doing somersaults
            over the greasy k'nishes
            or dancing a jig
            without breaking the dishes.
            on all other nights
            you sit nicely when dining--
            So why on this night
            must it all be reclining?