She was gamboling, with an oblivious gait,
Through the woods, of spruce and date,
She slipped and tripped and tore her sole,
And fell into a rabbit hole.
Tumbled down stairs and through a door,
She woke up on a velvet floor.
She looked around and rubbed her eyes,
She saw crackers and tea, pots and pies.
“Where am I?” she pondered,
And to where has she wandered?
To a table full of hatters?
Who speak World, about worldly matters?
In silken coats, and a tall top hat,
From silver cups they sip and chat.
“A fine leader!” she heard them say,
“Peace on Earth!” she heard them pray.
Some would sing, some would sway
To a tune that wove its way;
Someone gasped, some sat entranced
By a fancy contrivance.
Lost as ever, puzzled and dazed,
She reached out, trying to catch a gaze.
Not one eye, no ear nor hand was lent,
By the hatters drowned in merriment.
She crawled out, and gamboled back through the grove,
And woke up next morning to the rooster’s crow.
It was only a dream, she was told,
But on went the tea party, down the rabbit hole.