Very Nearly But Not

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I almost forgot — very nearly, but not —

To update my weblog today.

But wait ‘til you hear all the reasons I’ve got

For this uncharacteristic delay:

It’s not that I lingered on Mulberry Street.

It’s not that I chased any rabbits.

No wardrobes, no Wild Things, no, only some feet

With some very particular habits.

My feet, you see, walked me to Somewhere today

And I met No-One Else on the road.

Then a Suddenly Witch showed up sudden to say

I (and No-One Else) would be a toad.

And toad then I was, from my head to my toes,

Excepting my nose and one ear,

And I hoppled to where the old wither-wind blows

Seeking help, and a hope, and a mirror.

The wither-wind blew me to Twiddicum Lake

Where the Swaddely Sparrows still sing,

And they cured me with gumdrops and spinach and cake

And three leaps through a magical ring.

The last leap I leapt took me straight down a hill

Into Danger-From-Kitten-ly Land

Where I barely escaped with my heart—and I still

Bear the mark of small claws on my hand.

And oh, from the frying pan into the wok!

The Puppy-Dog-Doomlands were next.

The eyes — those big eyes! But I made myself walk

On away — and the puppies were vexed.

I came to a mountain. And what could I do?

I couldn’t go over — too big.

I couldn’t go round it. I couldn’t go through.

The only think left was to dig.

I dug and I dug with an old, tarnished spoon

Til my hole was as big as the sky

Then I stumbled and fell past the stars and the moon

And I landed inside of a pie.

The pie was large one; a giant child made it

Of mud and of ants and of me,

But I got myself out before anyone ate it

And looked for a way to get free.

The giants lived snugly inside a town hall

That was hemmed in by bogland and trees

Plus a river of lava and also a wall

Manned by Barziban-Snarziban bees.

I only got out without being detected

By creeping barefoot through the bog.

And that’s why I ever-so-nearly neglected

To write some new verse for my blog.

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