She sensed a certain degree of danger

When she trusted in that stranger

Following him down the rabbit hole

And becoming consigned to her role

Now she knows why the Cheshire cat smiles

She’s gotten her own claws sharpened by file

Stuck in time, tea and a few good books

She knew she would need more than her looks

If she ever hoped to truly understand

And that she must be leery of the hand

The hand that wished to hold her own

But also couldn’t live with a heart of stone

The madness of the hatter is often tragic

But, maybe real love is the best kind of magic