Awake from her dream,

She started to wander,

Looking for the place,

The possibility of wonder;

"If only it were real,

If only it were not slumber",

But the Cheshire Cat,

Shall remain her brain's blunder.

 

"reality is solemn,

Only made of umbers",

And this was true,

Inside Alice's mind of younger,

Thus Alice lost her thunder,

She burst asunder,

Not in a sunder,

But in a deep slumber.

 

soft yet solmenly,

Alice was no more,

"Here Lies Alice", nothing more.

her grave lays barren, 

except for the white rabbit,

who visited Alice out of habit.