a semi parody of "The Walrus and the Carpenter," with apologies to Lewis Carroll |
The glitter shone, the candles burned the air was warm and bright the invitees all talked and laughed and chattered through the night while tucked away, I watched and wrote so glad to have this site. My watch was ticking sulkily with butter in its gears because he thought it wasn’t fair to celebrate the years and not the seconds that he marked with ticking in my ears. A walrus and a carpenter went walking hand in hand, and stopped to interrupt my poem with talk of brooms and sand and mustaches that sweep one’s chin and pigs with rubber bands, “If seven maids had seven mops and tubs of rubber glue, do you think,” the walrus said, “that they could catch the flu?” “Oh yes,” replied the carpenter, “and baby oysters, too.” The lion and the unicorn engaged to play croquet, swearing that they’d only spar now every other day— “On the morrow, yesterday, but never fight today.” I tuned them out, because I’d found a dormouse in a pot, who sidled up beside me, close, and cleared his throat a lot, I turned to him and told him that I couldn’t leave this spot. “Oh deary me,” the dormouse said, a blush upon his face, “I plucked my courage up to ask if you could leave your place. They’re setting up the music now, to have a caucus race.” So, round and round, black, yellow, blue, and purple—see them shine the red cases marked arrows to direct the conga line I sighed, and swore that come next year I’d try to be on time. line count: 42 |