“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
Quoth the Hatter, never more.
And with flourishes
And gestures,
He pours some tea
Upon the floor.
“Time’s up! Time’s up!”
The Hatter yells,
And he changes seats,
Twice, thrice.
But bored, is he, of nonsense
Whimsy,
Tables, chairs and mice.
“It’s all in the mind, of course,”
He says.
“I may not even be here.
Why waste my time on madness,
Pray,
When nothing is ever clear?”
He produces a hanky,
Wipes his nose,
Then dunks it in his tea.
Turning to the hare
He says,
“Old friend,
You must agree!"
The March Hare shrugs,
Indifference clear,
Nibbles some bread and jam.
“You’re out of your mind,
But different this time,
You’ve always been mad as I am.”
“Why question it now?
You enjoy it, I trust,
Being weird and sick in the head.
Schizophrenia’s not right for you?
Here’s an idea,
Try dementia instead!”
And the clock keeps going
And the clock resets
And the clock says “time for tea.”
The Hatter’s ideas
Are wasted again,
So he clouds them
With forced glee.
Gender:
Points: 1890
Reviews: 56