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A SORT OF WONDERLAND




Too much of time and trains and checkerboards
Along our base and brittle mirrors;
Unruly eggs from tree house sellers in arrears,
And fallen spectacles from forest lords:
Too much has happened here, and all those cords
A once electric sun engaged recall our fears
Through eyes from other realms and from the tears,
A wonder less than love if more than words.
We must arise to pay the price of dream:
Things unfamiliar go where the summer was
Alleging hunger, day once beautiful,
When now we take a last look at the singular stream,
The golden and still company, because
The heart of paradise is cruel.

-- William G., Adult