Since feeling is first, and syntax is lies,
To enscribe you, my darling little jay,
I would have to ask, "Is there any way?"
Not of mimsy guise and anything-dyes,
But of nоnce-nonsense and everything-sighs,
Keep these thoughts pastiche on a wayward bay,
And perhaps leave them, removed on display,
Entirely altogether?
You are this fool's ". . ."
". . ." as '. . .' but ". . ."
Lea ve me ". . ." on, a . . .
A skip! for,
". . . & . . ." "can"t; f o r get
(love ". . .") and you,
". . ."