Alice by Mari Fitzpatrick

So Alice was a children's book for adults
Dreaming of their childhood and how
They wish it could be again or was really
When they were having a bad day and they wished
Three wishes, for an angel, a fairy or a genie,
As they poured from the wine bottle
they would rather have rubbed
while closing their eyes preparing for enchantment
in the life that was lived then.

Close your eyes, count one, two, three and
There you are, a soul swirling, but no
Not down a rabbit hole. Oh no!
It's the new millennium you got stuck in
And you've become a squiggle on cloud's surface.
Clamouring with other like souls as Tinkerbelle,
the Mad Hatter and the fairies look on.

You're knocking on a cottage door and you grow big
So big and they won't let you in,
And you grow small and you know you'll disappear,
But before you disappear forever
You step back into a body and pour a toast
To your existence as your soul stays screaming
In clouds that were once for dreaming.

Then you know that Alice is a children's book,
For adults dreaming of their childhood
And how they wish it could be again
When they are having a bad day
And wishing three wishes, for a angel, or a ghost,
as they pour from the wine bottle
they'd much rather rub.

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