Where's Walrus...? Letters N & M (Compliments and apologies once again to friend of the blog GFH)

The Walrus and the Neonate

Perambulate their nabe.

“Not one more lap without your map!

Who's snatch'd my astrolabe…?”

The Walrus thinks. “This precinct stinks!"

Prates tot, "It's got you, babe.”

The Walrus and Madame Defarge:

Beneath the guillotine

Nigh which they’ve stray’d, they hitch its blade,

Which seems extremely keen.

“Let's shave aristos,” whistles she.

“Voila! Well-oil’d machine.”