DAY 9
~ Alternative Prompt ~
Pull a book off your shelf and randomly open it up to any page. The first word or sentence you land on, write from there.
I chose Alice by Christina Henry.
~ Page 57 ~
“We have to go, Alice.”

Cheshire Cat is angry,
the caterpillar’s dead,
the flowers lost their voices,
and it seems you’ve lost your head.
The mushroom’s all been eaten,
the drink has been all drunk,
the rabbit hole is closing,
and time . . . time is almost up.
Tick, tock, tock, tick,
don’t jump over the candlestick,
poor rabbit already burned,
oh, it’s a nasty little trick.
Now, my dear, it’s time for tea,
beside the Hatter’s grave,
Dormouse is expecting us,
you know he hates to wait.
He might just dig him up (again)
he can’t stand to drink alone,
surely you don’t want to sit (again)
beside poor Hatter’s bones.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,
have made some walrus stew,
we must hurry along, or we’ll be late,
and I’ll be blaming you.
I’ve been meaning to ask,

but keep remembering to forget,
where was it you were going,
when you and I first met?
No matter now, of course,
you’ll never find your way.
Ah, but it’s been fun,
too bad you couldn’t stay.
Just think of all you’ve done,
since curiosity killed your cat,
Did you get a taste for blood?
Is that why you came back?
Was it to pet the Jabberwocky?
Did you mean to set him free?
Now he’s loose, you silly goose,
he’s been feeding on the queen.
Were you expecting someone?
There’s a knocking all about.
Never mind, it’s only me,
come again to get you out.
Hello? It’s me, It’s Alice,
I’ve come to fetch myself again.
I know I must be in there,
though I’m not certain where I’ve been.
Time is of the essence,
the hourglass, it’s almost out of sand,
and me and Alice, as you know,
belong in Wonderland.
Again, my dear, the answer’s no,
she can’t come out to play,
not today and not the morrow,
. . . she’s still locked away.

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Oh I love Alice and your poem
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Fascinating way to start writing…I need to try this.
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Alice finds Wonderland even stranger, courtesy of The Muse.
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Wow! Oh, poor Alice, she seems to have been stung by the Bread-and-Butter Fly, and now there’s no jam for her, even on another day.
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