The White Rabbit

I wist not where my foot had dropped;

But at the door of a world I stopped.

With little act and little thought,

I saw him in his waistcoat frocked.

He said to me, “No time!”

 

I grew a deal, but I was small;

I drank from life a little of all;

I rose and tottered from a crawl;

And listened ’bout me for his call,

The ringing words, “No time!”

 

I marched, I circled with the rest;

I sang the chants and took the test;

And all for naught it was at best–

The race was never done, I guessed.

He worried on. “No time!”

 

I searched through leaf and vale and plain;

I searched his house, calling his name.

Was I his slave, his pride, his shame;

His Mary Ann, as he did claim?

He twitched and cried, “No time!”

 

By him I walked among the great,

Touched the hem and entered the gate,

Found it false, but spoke too late;

“Silence her!” and “Off with her pate!”

He saw I had no time.

 

My world, scatt’ring threes and twos,

I cared not who would win or lose;

For games and such I had no use.

Yet, I was his and he was whose,

The one who had no time?

 

When I awoke beside my tree,

So real and safe that stood by me,

I cast aside the memory

That he had not had time for me.

He’s running with no time.

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Author: Rilla Z

I'm a scribbler. I'm genuine. My topics of interest are: this world, the worlds inside my head, and the world to come. Oh, and cups of tea. Yes, I write about my cups of tea.

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