Some days I am lonesome   I want to talk to my mother
And she isn’t home
Then I ask my father   Where has she been the last twenty years?
And he answers
Where do you think   you fool as usual?
                  She is asleep in Abraham’s bosom
                  Resting from years of your incessant provocation
                  Exhausted by infinite love of me
                  Escaping from the boredom of days shortening to Christmas
                           and the pain of days lengthening to Easter
                  You know where she is   She is at ease in Zion with all
                           the other dead Jews