Hey there, readers! Here is “The Jabberwocky”, a poem by CS Lewis, transposed into prose for you to relish!
A balmy afternoon, it was. The lithe toves frolicked and bore holes in the tussocks of the forest vegetation. The borogoves were downcast and the raths blared their riveting whistles. In their cosy cottage, at the outskirts of the wilderness that bewilders, Father paced with hope and anticipation, enlightening and cautioning his budding warrior, his son. “Be wary of the Jabberwock, those jaws that paralyse you, those claws that perplex you with nimbleness that it never reveals. For it is a monstrous, hideous creature with gory instincts! Be cautioned of the paradoxical JubJub Bird and the slinky Bandersnatch!”
The boy, with chivalry and aplomb thriving in his heart, encumbered his vorpal sword in hand and vanished into the monotonous hum drum of the wilderness, trudging along the plush strewn foliage. He rummaged, he meandered, and he called out to no avail. It didn’t dishearten him. He was as determined as a savage fly out for blood. A momentary reverie crossed paths with him, distracting him impromptu. As abruptly, the daylight was spilled with a gargantuan shadow. A pair of eyes; eyes of burning cruel zeal and fervour came with disturbing intent. The Jabberwock had arrived. The audacious lad stole into action. Beneath the forlorn Tum Tum Tree a combat slashed between good and viciousness. The boy’s apprehension melted like a forgotten lolly in the sun. He hacked the blade of the vorpal sword dexterously and in one! Two! The Jabberwocky, splattering blood like ketchup oozing from a bottle and menacing, gasped for a final breath. The lad galumphed with triumph and jubilance. He strode off and away with the mighty dominating head of the Jabberwocky as a hunter would be satisfied with ample game and to the applaud and rapture of the father whose joy knew no bounds. And good indeed was and is and ever will be victorious.