"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!"
- or something to that effect.
I half-listened to the cautions
he would always interject.
The old man, I'm sure, is senile -
a bit paranoid, you see.
Always shouting of the horrors
that would somehow befall me.
Today, it's the Jabberwock that has
some evil plan to hatch.
Last week it was a JooJoo bird,
or some frumious Sanderbatch.
The old man's claims didn't scare me;
a man in the prime of my youth.
That these creatures even existed
there wasn't a shred of proof.
Besides, he didn't understand
the power of the vorpal sword -
with the hilt of it in my hand,
foes were nothing but a bore.
So off I went in search of food,
walking easily as could be.
I set the snares then sat to think
beneath the Tumtum tree.
Suddenly a horrendous burbling
came crashing through the woods.
I'd never heard anything like it,
but I knew it couldn't be good.
Eyes of fire! Claws of steel!
House-sized leather wings!
My heart pounded as I pondered
the challenge he would bring.
I feinted right, he called my bluff
and caught me on the shoulder.
The pain, far from holding me back,
served only to make me bolder.
No greater foe have I ever fought,
each time I slashed he came right back -
until, with a final effort,
my blade went snicker-snack!
The beast was dead, I had his head
held proudly in my hand -
never again will I fail to heed
the warnings of that wise old man.
