I seem to be forgetting names.
I'd like to thank Dougie for
Correcting me.
Although some seemed to find him
hilarious. With his nefarious ways,
I couldn't understand the things
he'd say.
Watching a rabbit go down a hole?
Followed by a girl called Alice.
I find the story very drool,
Half listening to the things he said.
He'll probably be telling me next,
That the rabbit was feeling vexed.
As well as being irate, Because
He was late for a important date.
Trying to explain the story to me,
As drunk as a jury lane judge.
Told him his speech was slurred,
Yet he still had all his faculties.
No I said off to bed,
Not off with his head.
Here sober up I'd had enough,
Asking him to drink some tea,
He was surly acting like a mad
Hatter to me.
He was talking a lot of tweedle
dum and Tweedledee,
He asked me if he could tell
me more. I just said sure,
After that he started grinning
like a Cheshire cat.
Inside I thought he's gone insane,
He'd be better off sleeping it off.
By going up to bed, Before
he starts to paint the rose's red.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 80 times
Written on 2024-01-16 at 17:52
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I'd like to thank Dougie for
Correcting me.
Imaginary conversation with Lewis Carroll
Being drunk I found him gregarious,Although some seemed to find him
hilarious. With his nefarious ways,
I couldn't understand the things
he'd say.
Watching a rabbit go down a hole?
Followed by a girl called Alice.
I find the story very drool,
Half listening to the things he said.
He'll probably be telling me next,
That the rabbit was feeling vexed.
As well as being irate, Because
He was late for a important date.
Trying to explain the story to me,
As drunk as a jury lane judge.
Told him his speech was slurred,
Yet he still had all his faculties.
No I said off to bed,
Not off with his head.
Here sober up I'd had enough,
Asking him to drink some tea,
He was surly acting like a mad
Hatter to me.
He was talking a lot of tweedle
dum and Tweedledee,
He asked me if he could tell
me more. I just said sure,
After that he started grinning
like a Cheshire cat.
Inside I thought he's gone insane,
He'd be better off sleeping it off.
By going up to bed, Before
he starts to paint the rose's red.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 80 times
Written on 2024-01-16 at 17:52
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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