As day follows day
Inexarably the century ebbs away.
It has already reached seventeen.
Things not yet seen
Glimmer in a dream
Or a nightmare
Where
The mad Hatter and March Hare
Offer to answer Alice’s every prayer.

On the edge of wonderland
We stand.
But beware
The Hatter and the Hare
Who sit at a table
Offering tea which they are unable
To supply,
For this thing called progress is a wapping lie.