’Twas grillig, and the first-year supplicants
  Did scrape and scribble through the cores;
All flimsy were the arguments
  In packets of qualifier lore.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
  The hints that mire, the hypotheses that catch!
Beware the path-connectedness, and shun
  The Euclidean coordinate patch!”

He took his Lie derivative in hand:
  Long time the manxome form he sought —
So rested he by the van Kampen tree,
  And sat a while in thought.

As an uffish result he cited,
  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
With symbolic mess him sore affirighted
  Transforming smoothly as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The Lie derivative went snicker-snack!
He proved invariance, and with no tarriance,
  He harrumphed and pulled it back.

“And hast thou passed the Jabberwock?
  Start prepping for orals, my acolyte!
Callooh! Callee! I have an advisee!”
  He chortled in delight.

’Twas grillig, and the first-year supplicants
  Did scrape and scribble through the cores;
All flimsy were the arguments
  In packets of qualifier lore.