"Go on," said Rabbit in a loud whisper behind his paw.

"Talking of Poetry," said Pooh, "I made up a little piece as I was coming along. It went like this. Er – now let me see – "

"Fancy!" said Kanga. "Now Roo, dear – "

"You'll like this piece of poetry," said Rabbit.

"You'll love it," said Piglet.

"You must listen very carefully," said Rabbit.

"So as not to miss any of it," said Piglet.

"Oh, yes," said Kanga, but she still looked at Baby Roo.

"How did it go, Pooh?" said Rabbit.

Pooh gave a little cough and began.

LINES WRITTENBY A BEAR OFVERY LITTLE BRAIN–On Monday, when the sun is hotI wonder to myself a lot:"Now is it true, or is it not,""That what is which and which is what?"On Tuesday, when it hails and snows,The feeling on me grows and growsThat hardly anybody knowsIf those are these or these are those.On Wednesday, when the sky is blue,And I have nothing else to do,I sometimes wonder if it's trueThat who is what and what is who.On Thursday, when it starts to freezeAnd hoar-frost twinkles on the trees,How very readily one seesThat these are whose – but whose are these?On Friday -

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" said Kanga, not waiting to hear what happened on Friday. "Just one more jump, Roo, dear, and then we really must be going."

Rabbit gave Pooh a hurrying-up sort of nudge.

"Talking of Poetry," said Pooh quickly "have you ever noticed that tree right over there?"

"Where?" said Kanga. "Now, Roo – " "Right over there," said Pooh, pointing behind Kanga's back.



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