oh, my, is that the time?
save a seat for me at the mad hatter’s table
no, please, don’t say there isn’t any room!
’cause although i might be running late
i carry in my haste a special boon
the answer, you see, is killing me
as to why a raven is like a writing desk
i shan’t delay, i must confess for
unless this answer’s shared i cannot rest…
so, well, ahem, they are alike as ailke [sic] can be
from their being devourers of dead certainties
(those secret desires of which we dare not think)
as well as suggesting the color of spilled, black ink