A Nod To the Jabberwock

Along ta derry ga de hance ‘til dawn we sit, amid, astance. And once the full moon rises on’t Da mid awhorl doth all we want. But soon ta blacken brot a gri, wit stil da crackon akabree-- And once t’gin ta ram da moot Dow noland farce th’ wil ka soot! A packa shoon curl tabard sheath And when we drather forka beeth, Is wan ‘taback the cabbarth shoe Around about will strike the moon. The will soon eddy wine dak crown, To ramble on the turtle drown. We pounce upon the blackened brot ‘twas crackon gole th’ trei be shot!