‘Twas brillig, till the Jabberwock
Did finish worthing in the wabe
And came upon the slithy rock
Wherefound her first born grabe.
The mimsy toves and borogoves
Had stilled their gimble races.
The mome raths shunned their gyre troves
And clutched their cryful faces.
The Jabberwock eyeheld her son;
The fur she stroked, the claws she held—
The Jubjub bird howled thunderdun
The Bandersnatch frume knelled.
“Whose manxome hand hath brought a sword
Into our Tumtum wood?”
Demanded she with vorpal mord,
Dissolving her mumgood.
“‘Twas the boy with eyes aburn
That wreckish thing did do it!
Our burbling beast was whiffling fern
When—One, two!—blades shot through it.”
Then echoed over hill and rock
A mother’s heart-torn brays:
“Mine Jabberwock! Mine Jabberwock!
Gone are mine frabjous days!
“I shall hunt him who hath lain
Mine mimsy in the grabe.
Callooh! Callay! ‘Twill ne’er more say
In this once brillig wabe.”
Ingrid Anders is a freelance-writing wife, mother, and stepmother residing in Northern Virginia. Her most recent works have appeared in Eunoia Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, and right here in Mothers Always Write. She hosts multiple writing programs at the Washington DC Public Library and is a member of the Writer’s Center in Bethesda, MD.