Sonnet 7 (My Alice)
You tumbled neatly down my hole, my dear;
To hell with silly roads of yellow brick.
I must confess, it all just seemed so clear,
When I played out this one and final trick.
For I, the Rabbit in my coat, turned coat;
The Fool upon the errand of a Fool.
The grin without a cat should surely gloat;
For I, the King, turned out to be a tool.
The playful scheme it seems, was far too much:
Causality demands its lofty crown,
Your heart remains outside my furry clutch,
And I, the tool, turned out to be a clown.
I hear them now; commands to take your head,
And I'm left thinking "hell, take mine instead."
Sonnet by Thomas Selnes
Read 1091 times
Written on 2007-02-23 at 16:09
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