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,
". . ."