The thick grey cloud layered heavily
Casts its gloomy shadow on the forest,
Not painting it – drowning it
Beneath the dullish sludge
Of the forthcoming rain that will transform
The place that, yesterday, was light and gay,
A portal to another world, a Narnia,
Into a den of monsters, full of mysteries,
Hidden darknesses, through which
Jabberwocks and hydras lurk,
Dragging dark-green scales through stagnant mud
Until such a time as the clouds disperse,
When those monsters vanish,
And the light at last returns.
When travelling to London from my parent’s house, I briefly travel through a rather dense forest which, when I wrote this, looked so stormy that my travelling companion remarked that it looked like something from Harry Potter. I am aware that more usually Carroll’s beast is referred to as a ‘Jabberwocky’, but the line ‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son’ suggests that both forms are acceptable. And yes, I did just write that about a nonsense-poem.
Please forgive me,
The Hapless Neo-Romantic.