timothymh

My original post at The Eyes of March can be found here. ’Twas the night before Christmas, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; The stockings were hung by the borogoves, And the children outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! His eyes — how they twinkle! His dimples: how merry! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun His cheeks like roses; his nose like a cherry.” He took his vorpal sword in hand; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. And as in uffish thought he stood, The prancing and pawing of each little h