JMJ

As the Tea Tray Flies

I guess that tea tray in the sky

Dropped its tea things as it flew by.

I would have caught them as they fell

But for those trees, I sigh, "Oh well!"

Though, it is not what I preferred

I'm not the least small bit deterred.

Another spoon, another cup

We could use more, I say, "Hup hup!"

I cannot climb the tree myself;

I call the mouse to bring a shelf.

"We have no shelf," March Hare declared

As Dormouse is still wake-impaired.

"Then bring yourself and bring the mouse

I think a saucer's on your house.

"—Wait, no! Close here! It's still better

Above my head, we'd better get her.

"A teapot in the branches, March!

I think I feel a coming parch!"

"A coming porch would quite suffice

Just climb that without my bringing mice."

March Hare speaks while sipping tea

And pouring more upon his knee.

That makes my parchment all the drier

It's soaked my ink like oil in fire;

So I go to speak again

And go to urge my lazy men.

With some threats of no more tea

And pinching Dormouse till he'd see,

That lovely teapot in that bough

And what a bow that tree does now!

Stooping near the ground for me

But 'twas to tease; it soon breaks free.

There's nothing like a tree too proud

To help for tea. That's not allowed!

I cannot reach, and so I stand

Upon Dormouse who was so grand.

I could not reach and so I put

March Hare between to add a foot.

His feet are very large, you know

Add body, neck, and head— Oh, no!

Yet still we're not quite high enough!

I tap not-my-hat and I huff.

As below they huff and they puff

I think of steam that takes no guff.

I leap away and grab some tea

Pour a cup and sip— that's key!

This pot and cup now free to be,

To reach our spot upon the tree.

The Dormouse sits on the teapot,

The teapot upon the cup, so's not

To take a chance of a few inches

And be the laughing stock of finches!

Once our pile is back in place

To the top of it I race.

Dormouse now is getting weary,

March Hare's balance getting leery;

But I have her, pleased as tea

To nestle in the arms of me.

I stroke and pet her and she hisses

Like Cheshire's purr— no Duchess kisses.

"Had I the time, I'd take you home,

But as it is you're still my own.

"You'll live upon the tabletop

And sing to us— steam nice and hot!

"Never alone in some old cupboard

With sooty pans or some pad rubbered!

"That will make it up, I s'pose

That you can't be washed for your repose.

"At least it gives me an excuse

As quite before I was fairly loose

"Waiting days and days upon days

To clean my dishes in good-fash'd-ways

"Though, March Hare used to clean them, true

To near kaput, I'd save them— phew!

"That's what's on the table now.

Let us descend and take a bow.

"If you don't know, I am the Hatter!"

But here is where I hear a clatter.

No, not a trouncing, playful patter

But a sound through heart does shatter.

Dormouse had been asleep again

And Marchy's whines had reached to ten.

The vintage of his growling gripes

Was more than just a little ripe,

Since I had stepped upon his arm

Though, since then I'd done little harm.

The cause right now, that angry pot,

Below the mouse, and steamed quite hot.

Sleepy Dormouse slips and dreamy kicks

That pot clear into wood-filled thicks.

March Hare lost his in-bah-lance,

And I am left to my last gah-lance.

Then all of us do tumble round

Face-first right into the ground.

The old pot and the cup are fine,

Yet I pour some tea to pine

About the loss of the new one

That would have added to the fun.

"One small sip is for the trouble

Another sip is for the stumble!

"A long, long sip is for the flight

Of that dear pot in blinding light

"Above the trees and clouds gone by

And past the tea tray in the sky.

"Clear to the last of Jup'ter's rings

Has that pot gone with mighty wings

That sprouted last I saw it go

Like a foamy overflow!"

March Hare does not share my grief,

And Dormouse sleeps with fast relief.

I stand to take in one last sip

And I smile with one hat tip,

"To have a sip to sip at all

Is better than an empty stall."

And I stall the more and sigh,

"Happy again, and you know why?

"When I was in that lovely tree

I saw my hat stall, lone as can be,

And fallen down from quite sky-high

Looks like a lemon tea-time pie!"

"That will go nicely with our tea,

And make amends," March does agree.