The Hunting of the Snark and me We met one day for morning tea Perching on a sofa wide With my father by my side Eight years old, still new to words, I made friends with talking birds, Ran screaming from the Jabberwock Balanced on an outthrust rock Looking out on Wonderland Silver-covered book in hand An epic in six fits - or eight? Sitting by the blackened grate Little Alice there with me Reading over morning tea.