He stood tall and slender with a mind plentiful of creativity.
He was a man who lived in a world of just plain black and white
but devised a world for himself with an abundance of colors.
You may know him as Lewis Carroll or Charles Lutwidge Dodson
however, for me
  he was a constructor and inspiration for anything but the ordinary.
He exemplified the genre of complete and original literature nonsense,
wonderful word play, lingering logic, and a fulfilling fantasy.
He fell down the rough and ravishing rabbit hole into this world of color
and through the small door that concealed this land.
He dodged the pool of tears that eventually would represent
his fascination and amazement of the wonder he had just crafted.
He became a designer of an array of orchids, saffrons, and aquamarines:
the multifarious colors that soon consumed the wonderful land of Wonderland.
He became the girl in the powder blue dress,
            you may know her as Alice.
He strolled upon the dry Caucus-race and received an invitation
from the Dodo bird but thought the whole thing was very absurd.
He noticed their serious expressions but declined kindly,
“I am in such a hurry. I am in search of the White Rabbit!
I apologize sincerely but perhaps next time!” and rushed into the forest.
He wandered about the dark forest to only come across two little fat men:                    

Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
They spoke little logic but indeed spoke poetically and with
some rhyme about The Walrus and the Carpenter.
It was quite the tale and he remained in quite the hurry but
liked the Walrus best and felt remorse for the poor eaten oysters.
He frolicked through the garden of lively flowers:
  roses, daisies, tiger-lilies, larkspurs.
His petals were in fact the right length and the flowers
indeed, thought he obtained the worth to be talked to.
He came across the presence of the Caterpillar smoking his hookah,
who just so happened to be full of difficult questions and
rather rude sentences combined with arguable advice.
The Caterpillar huffed and puffed with the vaporing mist
that soon poured out of his mysterious mouth,
                                                            
                                            “Who
        are
        you?
       Who
      are
     you?”

After the encounter with the odd caterpillar he
drank tea with the Mad Hatter and the March Hare
and discovered a very merry unbirthday, blew out the candles,
and toasted with another cup of tea while dodging flying broken ones.
Soon after the much madness he had just experienced,
he ventured back into the dark forest to just come across
the despair and frustration of not finding the White Rabbit.
However, he not only came across those feelings of despair and frustration
but the one and only disappearing pink and lavender striped Cheshire Cat.
My oh my…Charles thought, I have never laid eyes upon such a grin.
It was true. The Cheshire Cat upheld a grin one could never replicate
and his body appeared to disappear as he purred of nonsense,
“We’re all mad here.
   We’re all mad here.
     We’re all mad here.
                                               Why else would you be here?”
Charles pondered and pondered this trivial thought---
this thought imbedded by this rather odd cat.
He spoke aloud, “Why am I here? Why did I create such a world
    full of wonder and madness? Maybe the cat was right.”
   As he walked and walked along in the dark forest, he at last
   encountered the White Rabbit and startled himself and
   the rabbit by his fascination of finally finding the White Rabbit.
“White Rabbit oh, White Rabbit where are you going? Please wait. Please wait for me to catch up!”
“I’m late. I’m late. I’m late for a very important date.”
“What date is that?” Charles questioned with shortness of breath. The rabbit was very quick.
“Stop asking questions and follow me to the Queen’s croquet-ground.”

They ran and ran until, at last, they arrived at the castle.
At the entrance withheld a garden full of white roses except
the card gardeners were persistently painting the roses red.
Five and Seven of Spades argued feverishly over splashing
the bright red paint all over each other and continued to bump heads
as White Rabbit and Charles couldn’t help but overhear and passed by.
Soldiers stomped their way from the castle accompanying
the King and Queen of Hearts. Charles was rather fond of her presence.
She reeked of the scent of roses and wore everything bright red and black.
“Your majesty, I am Charles. It is such a pleasure of mine to meet you,”
he graciously said as he got down on one knee to kiss her hand.
Completely engulfed by the compliment she commanded
and cheeks completely burned with crimson,
“Come and join me for a glorious game of croquet.”
Along with her rather small husband and deck of hearts soldiers,
they strolled to the croquet ground while others began to
gather all necessary things to play this game of croquet.
To his own astonishment the croquet balls were live hedgehogs!
And the mallets were live flamingos! He contemplated and
contemplated how he would maneuver these animals but simply
just studied his Queen with precautious measures.
Her Majesty stood the flamingo on its head and placed
the hedgehog right near its beak, hurled the flamingo,
and off went the hedgehog. The hedgehog however,
did not travel in the direction in which the Queen desired
and with that she screamed with all her might, “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” 
Observing her heated hatred for the poor animal signaled
Charles to leave the grounds at once. This was too much
madness for one day, he thought. He wanted to return home.
He had come to the realization of the purpose of the White Rabbit.
The White Rabbit served as his search for reality in this world
this world that inhabited no reality whatsoever.
He searched and searched for this unattainable source of reality
but only found that, in this world, such an idea was prosperous.
However, he did decide to allow many besides himself to
live through this world consumed of madness and mathematics to escape the cruel world in which we all live in.
He slayed the Jabberwocky of the world: accomplishing the ability to publish a book of literature nonsense deriving from a world of black and white and turning it into a world of color.