Wonderland

This man was not born here, but had come from another

The city nurtured him with literature and nature,

He was a child of the words, the rhythms and the tones

A mother no more, the wanderer found solace within the halls

Was he not learning enough, but he did learn all, and although normal eyes saw

 laziness, the looking glass saw wunderkind.

The language of the world and stars becometh a second tongue

But his first words, printed upon the canvas of fallen oak

Those words we read now, become intertwined in the fantasy

Questioning his style, but armoured by his visualization and gift

We shall always hold him in our hearts, showing us the true sight of the

Jabberwocky.