“Hallo, everybody,” said Christopher Robin—“Hallo, Pooh.”
They all said “Hallo,” and felt awkward and unhappy suddenly, because it was a sort of good-bye they were saying, and they didn’t want to think about it. So they stood around, and waited for somebody else to speak, and they nudged each other, and said “Go on,” and gradually Eeyore was nudged to the front, and the others crowded behind him.
“What is it, Eeyore?” asked Christopher Robin. Eeyore swished his tail from side to side, so as to encourage himself, and began.
“Christopher Robin,” he said, “we’ve come to say—to give you—it’s called—written by—but we’ve all—because we’ve heard, I mean we all know—well, you see, it’s—we—you—well, that, to put it as shortly as possible, is what it is.” He turned round angrily on the others and said, “Everybody crowds round so in this Forest. There’s no Space. I never saw a more Spreading lot of animals in my life, and all in the wrong places. Can’t you see that Christopher Robin wants to be alone? I’m going.” And he humped off.
Not quite knowing why, the others began edging away, and when Christopher Robin had finished reading POEM, and was looking up to say, “Thank you,” only Pooh was left.
“It’s a comforting sort of thing to have,” said
