Pooh followed slowly. He had something better to do than to find a new house for Owl; he had to make up a Pooh song about the old one. Because he had promised Piglet days and days ago that he would, and whenever he and Piglet had met since, Piglet didn’t actually say anything, but you knew at once why he didn’t; and if anybody mentioned Hums or Trees or String or Storms-in-the-Night, Piglet’s nose went all pink at the tip and he talked about something quite different in a hurried sort of way.

“But it isn’t Easy,” said Pooh to himself, as he looked at what had once been Owl’s House. “Because Poetry and Hums aren’t things which you get, they’re things which get you . And all you can do is to go where they can find you.”

He waited hopefully.⁠ ⁠…

“Well,” said Pooh after a long wait, “I shall begin ‘ Here lies a tree ’ because it does, and then I’ll see what happens.”