And the cows are almost cooing, And the turtle-doves are mooing, Which is why a Pooh is poohing In the sun.

For the spring is really springing; You can see a skylark singing, And the blue-bells, which are ringing, Can be heard.

And the cuckoo isn’t cooing, But he’s cucking and he’s ooing, And a Pooh is simply poohing Like a bird.

“Hallo, Pooh,” said Rabbit.

“Hallo, Rabbit,” said Pooh dreamily.

“Did you make that song up?”

“Well, I sort of made it up,” said Pooh. “It isn’t Brain,” he went on humbly, “because You Know Why, Rabbit; but it comes to me sometimes.”