In a room with
a loom, she pedals a treadle,
She's Gretchen the yiddisher witch of the shtetl.
The shuttle goes "woof" in the weft of the netting
She's tatting for hemming the pillows and bedding.
Her sister Priscilla is picking the ticking
For basting and tacking the quilting she's backing.
Her fingers so nimble with needle and thimble,
She stitches the britches for young shtetl shiksehs.
She matches the patches and tears up the sacking
From satchels of rags and remainders she's packing.
A third sister Gretel is minding the kettle
And setting out dishes of lox and knishes.
Sleepily schlepping matzos and borsht,
Blintzes and brats, kosher wieners and wurst,
She's known in the shtetl as Gretel the Klutz,
Zoks, fartekh, and rekl all shpeckled with schmutz.
At supper she suffers a kvetchin' from Gretchen
Meshuge makhn mit "oughta's" and "should's."
And Priscilla-Megilleh is also a noodge.
Cuz they're witches! They're snitches. And they can be mean.
But Gretel's verklempf about yiddish cuisine.
"Schlemiel! You wouldn't say no to a noodle?
A krepl, a farfel? For afters a shtrudel?
Or grimace a grimace at cinnamon tzimmes?"
By day she makes dreidls from old wooden ladles.
So klutzy or schmutzy, ya wouldn't berate her,
Cuz Gretel can cater a gor geshmak seder.
And the other two witches will keep you in stitches.
Oy! Who couldn't settle for life in a shtetl?