Gaze in the looking glass,
Tumble down the rabbit hole,
Chase the poor running rabbit,
Poor fellow is late, he always is.
Your mind awash with confusion,
You think it but a dream,
These things never happen in fairy tales,
Poor girl, nothing makes sense.
Head spinning with mad hatter gibberish,
You choke on caterpillars smoke,
And run from guards of hearts,
Minions of hateful spiteful queen.
Little girl fleet of foot who dreams aplenty,
Are you a dreaming and sleeping again?
You should know now that it’s all in your head,
Or at least that’s what the unbeliever says.
(Copyright () 2007. All rights reserved)
© Copyright 2016 Amity Willows. All rights reserved.