“Fear not the rabbit hole.
It is warm, safe and secure
from the shredding above.”
—Nitram Sradni

The best burrow deep, blindly so,
to either nowhere or nowhere you know.
With nothing from above but a broken clock,
the below echoes the best of our dreams.

So down, down, down the rabbit hole we go
slowly, freely, fearlessly below
past cupboards and bookshelves
—of Mr. Carroll’s making, you know—
awaiting our perusal.

Some call the rabbit hole
a loss of time defined.
Yes! And how wonderful it is
to get lost amidst the world’s words
and in tunnels promising new ones
for those willing to dig.
           
Wordminers warn
tunnel walls are often rock;
that the pick’s first strikes
may yield but dust.
But subsequent strikes
turn scratches into grooves
and ultimately bare gems so beautiful
they must be shown.
           
So we pocket our find
and head up, up, up
to display our work,
and gather more food,
and feel the sun,
and pay the dues
waiting above.

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Martin Indars lives in Norwich, Ct., and works at Nippy’s Driving Range. His work is available at http://www.martinindars.com. Art is also by Martin Indars.