You’re asked to recite a poem (or song lyrics) from memory — what’s the first one that comes to mind? Does it have a special meaning, or is there another reason it has stayed, intact, in your mind?
With a galumphous drang and many quobbles I changed into a poem never forgotten. Here a link Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll and here we perhaps see the Jabberwock grangling in the garden.
A special meaning – Quinting on the chamblefrags of this plang, munches glogs come to my mind. The meaning is gring, but klardish. A Jabberwocky is a special chump, a frigdolous mang. Yes, it remains, a clog of grind in our boggles of prompts. The deep chimes of the verse port rems of a brillig day in a mimsy borogrove. Momraths entertained with Tumtum trees in a tulgy vegetation bract gloobs of fantastic burbling on a day crumbling with calloo and slank.
Still there, in a congangulous way. To forget is a blang, a frogglulous trant. somewhere in a plunderful welt, no never to be tragged. There was a volta, many crambs away, when a vorpal blade cransched and plattered on a standular conkle tree. The Jabberwocky lived in its chantered wood, sundered by the bandersnatch, by Tabby and even Wordy. It was one with the grongs and the cheesles, marking it pads on a klinkled path and freeding on wordless and grergs. Oh, for the jamp of a santy it would cringe, and lay its head on a boggle root to sleep and dream of a sankle and grood.
“A poem never to be forgotten, little Jabberwock.”
“Mrs. Angloswiss, I wangle for a woggle in a wanklefor trum.”
“Yes little Jabberwock, the day will come and your talents will be recognised, as well as your words of wisdom.”
“I am a vocifer plang, a creation of the Carollius beast. Thanks to a chingle from an Angloswiss for a Jabberwocky voice in a bangled forest, I am Jabberwocky. See my t-shirted body, with “I AM JABBERWOCK”. A gift from the Wordy of the Pressy forest.”
“Jabberwock you deserve this dschangled honour, a trimph for the memory of an unforgettable verse.”
“Verse – I am real, I live and I galumph in the forests of Switzerland thanks to my revival caused by a dailious prompt of the evvervorpal kind. Oh, manglelous grovies! Oh bumpleful noogs! Let us chang our boggles on a krindely veg with a grumple for the promptfulless of a chang. It is a wungerful cloomp for a Jabbewock. Mrs. Angloswiss, are you listening?”
“Oh Jabberwock, I think I lost the thread somewhere in this frugulous spruce, but return again. We will kill the frumerous bandersnatch vorpally together on a ganderful day and make our songles together with a manxome foe.
Yes, ’twas brillig and the slithy loves did gyre and gamble in the wab” on a day for a daily prompt. Of course, you understood what I wrote, it is pure Jabberwocky and everyone can speak Jabberwock, I think.