Alice was sipping her tea with a sigh,
When a blur dashed past with a glint in its eye.
A rabbit—white-furred, with a waistcoat and frown—
Was muttering, “Goodness! I’m terribly down!”

She blinked once or twice, then sprang to her feet,
For chasing odd rabbits is never a feat
That’s best left to reason, or clocks, or to maps—
So off she did tumble through twists, turns, and gaps.

He darted through hedges, then dove down a hole,
(A perfectly rabbit-sized dark rabbit hole),
And Alice, not stopping to question the fall,
Went tumbling behind, skirts and ribbons and all.

She fell past the teacups, past tables and hats,
Past mirrors and muffins and sleepy old cats.
She landed (quite gently) on carpeting red—
The White Rabbit gone, but his echo just said:

“I’m late for a something! A thing! Or a who!”
(Though what that might mean, Alice hadn’t a clue.)
Still, onward she went in pursuit of his tail,
Through puddles of poetry, puddings and snail.

So if ever you’re feeling a touch out of sorts,
And time seems to twitch in peculiar contorts,
Just follow the White Rabbit—don’t ask him why—
For Wonderland waits where the clocks go awry.