If The Person You Are

By The Time It Came To The Edge Of The Forest, The Stream Had Grown Up, So That It Was Almost A River, And, Being Grown-up, It Did Not Run And Jump And Sparkle Along As It Used To Do When It Was Younger, But Moved More Slowly. For It Knew Now Where It Was Going, And It Said To Itself, “there Is No Hurry. We Shall Get There Some Day.” But All The Little Streams Higher Up In The Forest Went This Way And That, Quickly, Eagerly, Having So Much To Find Out Before It Was Too Late.

I Do Remember, And Then When I Try To Remember, I Forget.

It Was A Drowsy Summer Afternoon, And The Forest Was Full Of Gentle Sounds, Which All Seemed To Be Saying To Pooh, 'don't Listen To Rabbit, Listen To Me.' So He Got In A Comfortable Position For Not Listening To Rabbit.

Where Did You Say It Was?' Asked Pooh. Just Here,' Said Eeyore. Made Of Sticks?' Yes' Oh!' Said Piglet. What?' Said Eeyore. I Just Said "oh!"' Said Piglet Nervously. And So As To Seem Quite At Ease He Hummed Tiddely-pom Once Or Twice In A What-shall-we-do-now Kind Of Way.

Come, Come, Come. Without A Monster Or Two It's Not A Quest, Merely A Gaggle Of Friends Wandering About.