Here, father,
take the shadow of this tree
For your good host;
pray that the right may thrive:
If I ever
I return to you again,
I’ll bring you comfort.
If I ever
The preservation of life.
Superseded all concerns.
Over land.
“I just don’t want people to die.”
“Not the youth.
Not the old people.
Not the civilians.
Who live on the frontline.”
Alice never could quite make out,
in thinking it over afterwards,
how it was that they began:
all she remembers is,
that they were running hand in hand,
and the Queen went so fast
that it was all she could do
to keep up with her:
and still the Queen kept crying
‘Faster! Faster!’ but Alice felt
she could not go faster,
though she had no breath left to say so.
The most curious part of the thing was,
that the trees and the other things
round them never changed
their places at all:
Polls suggest that.
About 54% of ‘elves’.
Support some form of.
Land compromise.
In order to hasten.
The end of the war.
But only with security guarantees.
From ‘elves’ international partners.
So deep and widespread is.
The distrust of ‘Mordor’.
That many believe an agreement.
To freeze the frontlines.
Without security guarantees.
Would simply be an invitation.
To ‘Mordor’.
To rest, rearm, and reattack.
however fast they went,
they never seemed to pass anything.
‘I wonder if all the things
move along with us?’
thought poor puzzled Alice.
And the Queen seemed to guess
her thoughts, for she cried,
‘Faster! Don’t try to talk!’
Not that Alice had any idea
of doing that.
She felt as if she would never
be able to talk again,
she was getting so much out of breath:
and still the Queen cried
‘Faster! Faster!’
and dragged her along.
“If we freeze.
The frontlines and.
Cede territories.
It will only serve.”
“As a platform.
For a new offensive.”
Said an ‘elf’ sniper serving.
In the east of the country.
“Many soldiers gave their lives.
For these territories.
For the protection.
Of our country.”
“A freeze would mean.
Demobilization would begin.
Wounded and exhausted soldiers.
Would be discharged.”
“The army would shrink.
And during one of.
These rotations.
The ‘orcs’ would strike again.”
“The ‘orcs’ would strike again.
But this time.
It would be the end.
Of our country.”
‘Are we nearly there?’
Alice managed to pant out at last.
‘Nearly there!’ the Queen repeated.
‘Why, we passed it ten minutes ago! Faster!’
And they ran on for a time in silence,
with the wind whistling in Alice’s ears,
and almost blowing her hair
off her head, she fancied.
‘Now! Now!’ cried the Queen. ‘Faster! Faster!’
And they went so fast that at last
they seemed to skim through the air,
hardly touching the ground with their feet,
till suddenly, just as
Alice was getting quite exhausted,
they stopped, and she found herself sitting
on the ground, breathless and giddy.
Across Ukraine.
People from all walks of life.
Were making very tough decisions.
About the reality of their future.
Said the director of the Kyiv.
International Institute of Sociology.
Which regularly polls.
The population about the war.
One of the toughest decisions.
Was whether to accept.
The idea of giving.
De facto control.
The idea of giving.
De facto control.
Of some ‘elves’ soil.
To ‘Mordor’, he said.
“It’s 20% of our land.
And these are our people.
But ‘elves’ are showing us.
That they are flexible.”
“They are telling us that.
They will accept.
Various forms of.
Security guarantees.”
The Queen propped her up against a tree,
and said kindly,
‘You may rest a little now.’
Alice looked round her in great surprise.
‘Why, I do believe
we’ve been under this tree
the whole time!
Everything’s just as it was!’
‘Of course it is,’ said the Queen:
‘what would you have it?’
‘Well, in our country,’
said Alice, still panting a little,
‘you’d generally get to somewhere else
– if you ran very fast
for a long time,
as we’ve been doing.’
According to the institute’s polling.
75% of ‘elves’ are.
Totally opposed to.
Giving ‘Mordor’.
Formal ownership.
Of any territory.
Among the remaining.
25%, there were.
Some people who were.
Pro-‘orcs’, he said.
And some who were.
Simply so fatigued.
Simply so fatigued.
By the war that they felt.
Hard compromises.
Were necessary.
‘A slow sort of country!’
said the Queen.
‘Now, here, you see, it takes
all the running you can do,
to keep in the same place.
If you want to get somewhere else,
you must run at least twice
as fast as that!’
‘I’d rather not try,
please!’ said Alice.
‘I’m quite content to stay here
– only I am so hot and thirsty!’
‘I know what you’d like!’
the Queen said good-naturedly,
taking a little box out of her pocket.
‘Have a biscuit?’
“My belief is that.
The war should be stopped.
In any way possible.”
In any way possible.”
Said a 70-year-old.
A retired factory worker.
From Donetsk region.
In Ukraine’s east.
“The further it goes.
The worse it becomes.
The ‘orcs’ have already occupied.
The Kherson region.”
“And they want Odesa.
All this must be stopped.
So the youth do not die.”
So the youth do not die.”
Alice thought it would not be civil
to say ‘No,’ though it wasn’t at all
that she wanted.
So she took it,
and ate it as well as she could:
and it was very dry;
and she thought she had never been
so nearly choked in all her life.
‘While you’re refreshing yourself,’
said the Queen,
‘I’ll just take the measurements.’
And she took a ribbon out of her pocket,
marked in inches,
and began measuring the ground,
and sticking little pegs
in here and there.
She has a son.
Who is not yet fighting.
But could be called up.
She said she believed that.
Three years into the war.
With hundreds of thousands.
Of dead and wounded.
On the ‘elves’ side alone.
The preservation of life.
Superseded all concerns.
Over land.
“I just don’t want people to die.”
“Not the youth.
Not the old people.
Not the civilians.
Who live on the frontline.”
‘At the end of two yards,’
she said, putting in a peg
to mark the distance,
‘I shall give you your directions
– have another biscuit?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Alice:
‘one’s quite enough!’
‘Thirst quenched, I hope?’
said the Queen.
Alice did not know what to say to this,
but luckily the Queen did not
wait for an answer,
but went on.
‘At the end of three yards
I shall repeat them
– for fear of your forgetting them.
So deep and widespread is.
The distrust of ‘Mordor’.
That many believe an agreement.
To freeze the frontlines.
Without security guarantees.
Would simply be an invitation.
To ‘Mordor’.
To rest, rearm, and reattack.
Away, old man;
give me thy hand; away!
Give me thy hand; come on.
Give me thy hand; come on.
Men must endure
Their going hence,
even as their coming hither:
Ripeness is all: come on.
*Because I read “’About our lives, but without our voice’: Sidelined Ukrainians look on” by Joel Gunter on 15 Aug 2025, and also “Why are Ukrainians calling Russians ‘orcs’?” by James FitzGerald on 30 Apr 2022, on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem, including a story of Volodymyr, a story of Grushetsky, a d a story of Nazarenko, led by ‘KING LEAR’ written by William Shakespeare and ‘THROUGH the LOOKING-GLASS’ written by Lewis Carroll, you know.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
Sidelined Ukrainians look on as Trump and Putin meet for Alaska talks
