• Riddle me this, Lewis, riddle me this!

    If t'was brillig and the slithy troves
    Were gyring and gimbling in the Wabe;
    T'ant the flairing sun, high o'er the groves,
    Shant it be gloaring, high north it be drove?

    Yes! Then, thus, therely, The Jabberwock will see!
    You, boy, shant dodge those slotchety apendeges,
    Those jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
    No Vorpal weapon you'll have, grumped you will be!

    There! its comes from its crott in the tulgey woods!
    poor lad, hard you fought, hard you stood!
    But no match are you, for the alerted antrositer,
    You never caught its back, no kill with a crack!

    All the jubjub birds will crow in glee,
    And thus the Bandersnatch will yell:
    "Silly boy, now look where you be!
    You can only catch the Jabberwocks back!"

    Now riddle me this Lewis, riddle me this,
    Who shall tell the forlorned father, the boy, sorely missed?
    You shall, my dear Lewis, tell this slomped man,
    And ill go find someone that will kill a jabberwock,
    Someone that actually can!