I lay on my chest And I thought it best To pretend I was having an evening rest; I lay on my tum And I tried to hum But nothing particular seemed to come. My face was flat On the floor, and that Is all very well for an acrobat; But it doesn’t seem fair To a Friendly Bear To stiffen him out with a basket-chair. And a sort of sqoze Which grows and grows Is not too nice for his poor old nose, And a sort of squch Is much too much For his neck and his mouth and his ears and such.

“That was all,” said Pooh.