I've had Mary Ann's back for a year now.

Literally.

She's sat in front of me since the day I was hired at YourHub.com, and now my favorite Community Journalist for Arvada, Mary Ann Lopez, is moving back to her home of Chicago.

She's edited two or three of my stories, always with a fair dose of insight and guidance. I appreciate her mentorship and company in the newsroom -- her presence will be missed-- and I intend to do her right and remember her advice.

Best of luck, Mary Ann, back in Chicago-- where the Green Mill helped give birth to spoken word poetry. And where Mr. Twas born: "I pity the fool (who never heard no spoken word poetry!)"

The YourHub.com staff gave her a proper send off May 11 at Cap City in Denver. We gave her a mock YourHub.com print cover that she's thinking of framing.

In honor of Mary Ann, I'm breaking from the norm and not posting a poem from American Life in Poetry, but I'm posting what she said is her favorite poem, by Lewis Carroll.

(Thanks to the Columbine Poets, I've seen first-hand how a couplecan dance a waltz to this poem. Apparently Carroll meant for it to have the right cadence for the waltz. You might want to imagine that as you read on.)

The Jabberwock

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.