To balance out the universe, after my very sad story about Alice in Wonderland, I decided to write this little romantic comedy. Enjoy. :o)

Your hair is the shiniest of gold

Your eyes, the bluest of blue

(These two lines were followed by several lines that had been started, but scribbled out.)

Tarrant Hightopp, the Mad Hatter, sighed, and put down his pen. Why did poetry need be so difficult to write? Especially when one was trying to write a poem to express one's feelings towards the love of one's life.

"What're you scribblin', 'Atter?" a high-pitched voice suddenly asked. Tarrant jumped slightly in surprise, but then realized it was only Mallymkun, the Dormouse.

"Nothing, Mally, absolutely nothing," Tarrant said quickly, covering up the piece of paper with his arm and leaning casually on it, "Why ever do you ask?"

"Well, 'cause it doesn't look like nothing," Mally said skeptically, "I know what a nothing looks like, and that's definitely a something."

"I hardly think it's a something, Mally," Tarrant insisted, lifting his arm to show her, "It definitely looks more like a nothing." He realized his mistake too late.

Mally scampered on to the paper and read, or at least tried to read, what had been written, the many scribbles made it difficult to decipher. After a moment, though, a slight smirk crept onto her furry face.

"This is supposed to be a poem," she said, with a small chuckle, "And a love poem, at that."

"Now what ever gave you that idea?" Tarrant asked innocently, silently cursing himself for being so careless as to let Mally even catch sight of the paper in the first place.

"You fancy someone, don't you, 'Atter?" Mally said slyly, and disturbingly happily.

Tarrant flushed a bit, and looked rather embarrassed. "I… It, uh… Well…" he stuttered.

Thackery Earwicket, the March Hare, laughed loudly and pointed to Tarrant's reddened cheeks, saying, "Cherry, cherry, cherry tomatoes!"

Tarrant perked up considerably, suddenly struck by an idea. He bent over the paper and began writing again. As he wrote, he mumbled aloud, "You cheeks are the reddest of cherry tomatoes…"

This time it was Mally who burst out laughing. " 'Atter," she said, when she was able to take a breath, "That's not really something ladies like to 'ear."

Tarrant sighed again and dropped his pen, "Well, how am I supposed to know what sentiments ladies enjoy hearing? Because I most certainly am not one. A lady, I mean." In yet another mood swing, he perked up and looked at Mally. "But you are."

"Who you callin' a lady?" Mally snarled, eyes narrowing, hand reaching for her tiny sword.

Tarrant opened his mouth to reply, but was at a loss for what exactly to say. He was a bit surprised as to how Mally had gone from laughing to being so very cross in such a small amount of time.

"He's callin' you a lady," Thackery offered, in a rare moment of trying to be helpful.

"So I 'eard," Mally growled, drawing her sword and advancing towards Tarrant.

Tarrant's eyes widened slightly in confusion, and he stammered something that may have been intended to be, "Now, now, Mally. I… I didn't mean anything by it… It's just…" But whatever it was, it was quite incoherent.

Mally laughed again and put away her sword. "Just pullin' yer 'at-pin, 'Atter," she said, "I most definitely am a right ladylike lady."

Thackery laughed again, but shut right up upon a glare from Mally.

"You certainly are very ladylike," Tarrant said quickly, "And I was wondering if you would be so kind as to help me write this?"

"I would be delighted, Sir," Mally chuckled, in mock elegance.

They set about writing. Tarrant suggested things to say, which were then corrected and/or approved by Mally, then put in the poem. Even Thackery pitched in a little bit, but Mally rejected each of his suggestions (with good reason). After a short time, he grew annoyed, then sulked, then became thouroughly distracted by a teacup and didn't pay the others any mind at all.

Once it was done, Tarrant and Mally both had to admit, it was quite the poem. It was romantic, sweet, endearing – all these things and more. The perfect love poem.

After reading it through a few times, Mally nodded approvingly. "It'll surely impress-" Her brow knit together and she looked at Tarrant, "Wait a minnit, 'Atter. You never told us who you was wantin' to write this for."

Tarrant reddened slightly again and said, "Well, it, um… You see, it's…" Then he silently admitted defeat, looked down at the table, and told Mally outright, "It's for Alice."

"What's for me?" a curious voice inquired. Tarrant looked up in surprise to see Alice had entered the clearing which housed the tea tables just in time to hear herself be mentioned.

Tarrant opened and closed his mouth several times, reddening even more, unable to form words.

Mally sighed at Tarrant and decided it best to tell Alice herself. "This poem is for you, Alice."

"Is it?" Alice asked, walking up to the head of the table, "May I see it?"

"Of course," Mally smiled, putting the piece of paper happily in Alice's outstretched hand.

Tarrant chewed his lip as she read, anxiously awaiting her reaction.

Once she had read it, Alice looked back up at the trio of lunatics. "This is lovely," she praised, "Who wrote it?"

Tarrant and Mally opened their mouths to answer, but Thackery beat them to it. He shrieked happily:

"Thackery, Thackery, Thackery did!"