To save from the ever changing tide;
to never fall. This innocent’s
tumbling, tumbling ride
quite like Alice’s twisted descent.
Is this to be the fate of all
the girls who flower harvest?  
Forced to hell, meant to appall
and frighten all the rest.
Yes, the world is full of holes
But I will hide within the poppy field,
watch my step, refuse the ferrier’s tolls.
I will never, never yield.
Now, this is the vital chore,
to anchor safe upon the shore.