This Be The Jabberwock In The Trees

Just for fun, a mash-up of three of my favourite poems, as suggensted by the wife. Can you identify?

They may not mean to, but they do.
(Did) gyre and gimble in the wabe
And the mome raths, just for you,
Add some extra outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son”!
They fuck you up, your Mum and Dad
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch,
They fill you with the faults they had

He took his vorpal kind of grief:
In old style hats and coats he sought --
The trees, by fools, up in their turn
And stood a while in thought

And as in uffish thought he stood
Like something almost being said
Yet still the unresting Jabberwock
With eyes of flame, relaxed and spread.

At one another’s throats, one two!
The soppy-stern went snickersnack
He left it dead, no, they die too,
And, last year, went galumphing back.

“Come to my arms, my beamish boy!”
Man hands on misery to man
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh!
Get out as early as you can.