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Poem

"sizes matter" chirped the hatter before 
popping the size 8 and 1/4 on his head
and jumping theatrically into his bed
hat and clothes all snuggled into dreams

"things aren't always what they seem"
he muttered as he drifted slowly to slumber
and counted sheep with irrational numbers
shearing off some wooly fractions

then arising after slumbered satisfaction
to further woolgather a daytime indulgence
about teas and tease, a timely innocence
to tickle his taste buds, two lumps please

though he oft prefers the honey of bees
then he wanders off over knoll and swale
to encounter his comrades and tell a tale
of little girls and deep dark wells

and felines with invisibility spells
and ravens much like a writing desk
riddles without answers, and other mess
that seems to jump from head to mouth

though facing south to tell the truth
to let the sun shine onto his face
he'd stuck with hare in tea time and place
so matter-of-factly exclaims "shall I pour?"

but quickly adds "sizes matter", like before

© Goode Guy 2011-09-14

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