The Mad Hatter Was Quite, Quite Mad

The Mad Hatter Was Quite, Quite Mad

The Mad Hatter was wonderfully mad,
The happiest soul the woodland had.
He wore odd socks upon his ears,
Collected smiles instead of tears.

He’d greet the sunrise with a grin,
Inviting every breeze to spin.
His teapot hummed a merry tune,
While sparrows danced beneath the moon.

He held debates with buttercups,
Served peppermint clouds in tiny cups.
The rabbits bowed with great delight,
Declaring tea at morning’s night.

He borrowed colours from the rain,
Painting laughter on each lane.
The roses blushed a deeper red,
As butterflies flew overhead.

He claimed the clocks were far too slow,
So taught them how to skip and flow.
Why march ? he’d laugh, when you can twirl
Life is one enormous whirl.”

He balanced dreams on silver spoons,
Collected echoes gifted by moons.
Every impossible thing he’d see,
Was simply possibility.

Some called him strange, some wild,
Yet every lonely heart he smiled.
For hidden underneath the play,
He chased the darkest clouds away.

Perhaps the maddest thing of all
Was answering kindness every call.
He never cared for perfect ways,
He filled the ordinary with amaze.

So here’s to hats that sit askew,
To cups that pour a sky so blue.
To hearts unafraid to wander free,

finding magic in simply being… we.

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