A Milne - Now We Are Six

There were Two little Bears who lived in a Wood,
And one of them was Bad and the other was Good.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times One—
But Bad Bear left all his buttons undone.
They lived in a Tree when the weather was hot,
And one of them was Good, and the other was Not.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Two—
But Bad Bear’s thingummies were worn right through.
They lived in a Cave when the weather was cold,
And they Did, and they Didn’t Do, what they were told.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Three—
But Bad Bear never had his hand-ker-chee.

They lived in the Wood with a Kind Old Aunt,
And one said “ Yes’m, ” and the other said
“ Shan’t! ”
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Four—
But Bad Bear’s knicketies were terrible tore.

And then quite suddenly (just like Us)
One got Better and the other got Wuss.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Three—
But Bad Bear coughed in his hand-ker-chee!

Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Two—
But Bad Bear’s thingummies looked like new.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times One—
But Bad Bear never left his buttons undone.

There may be a Moral, though some say not;
I think there’s a moral, though I don’t know what.
But if one gets better, as the other gets wuss,
These Two Little Bears are just like Us.
For Christopher remembers up to Twice Times Ten…
But I keep forgetting where I’ve put my pen. * So I have had to write this one in pencil.

When Anne and I go out a walk,
We hold each other’s hand and talk
Of all the things we mean to do
When Anne and I are forty-two.

And when we’ve thought about a thing,
Like bowling hoops or bicycling,
Or falling down on Anne’s balloon,
We do it in the afternoon.

O Timothy Tim
Has ten pink toes,
And ten pink toes
Has Timothy Tim.
They go with him
Wherever he goes,
And wherever he goes
They go with him.
O Timothy Tim
Has two blue eyes,
And two blue eyes
Has Timothy Tim.
They cry with him
Whenever he cries,
And whenever he cries,
They cry with him.

O Timothy Tim
Has one red head,
And one red head
Has Timothy Tim.
It sleeps with him
In Timothy’s bed.
Sleep well, red head
Of Timothy Tim.

These are my two drops of rain
Waiting on the window-pane.
I am waiting here to see
Which the winning one will be.
Both of them have different names.
One is John and one is James.
All the best and all the worst
Comes from which of them is first.
James has just begun to ooze.
He’s the one I want to lose.
John is waiting to begin.
He’s the one I want to win.
James is going slowly on.
Something sort of sticks to John.
John is moving off at last.
James is going pretty fast.
John is rushing down the pane.
James is going slow again.
James has met a sort of smear.
John is getting very near.
Is he going fast enough?
(James has found a piece of fluff.)
John has hurried quickly by.
(James was talking to a fly.)
John is there, and John has won!
Look! I told you! Here’s the sun!

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her.
“I’ll ask my mother,” says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all that he did he did with her.
“Two friends together,” says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn’t much bother about Tattoo,
For he knows it’s nothing to do with her,
So “See you later,” says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that’s nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
“Dear little Tat,” says Pinkle Purr.

No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.
It’s flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn’t keep up with it,
Not if I ran.
But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.
And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.
So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes…
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.

Lords of the Nursery
Wait in a row,
Five on the high wall,
And four on the low;
Big Kings and Little Kings,
Brown Bears and Black,
All of them waiting
Till John comes back.
Some think that John boy
Is lost in the wood,
Some say he couldn’t be,
Some say he could.
Some think that John boy
Hides on the hill;
Some say he won’t come back,
Some say he will.

High was the sun, when
John went away…
Here they’ve been waiting
All through the day;
Big Bears and Little Bears,
White Kings and Black,
All of them waiting
Till John comes back.

Lords of the Nursery
Looked down the hill,
Some saw the sheep-fold,
Some saw the mill;
Some saw the roofs
Of the little grey town…
And their shadows grew long
As the sun slipt down.

Gold between the poplars
An old moon shows;
Silver up the star-way
The full moon rose;
Silver down the star-way
The old moon crept…
And, one by another,
The grey fields slept.
Lords of the Nursery
Their still watch keep…
They hear from the sheep-fold
The rustle of sheep.
A young bird twitters
And hides its head;
A little wind suddenly
Breathes, and is dead.
Slowly and slowly
Dawns the new day…
What’s become of John boy?
No one can say.
Some think that John boy
Is lost on the hill;
Some say he won’t come back,
Some say he will.


What’s become of John boy?
Nothing at all ,
He played with his skipping rope ,
He played with his ball .
He ran after butterflies ,
Blue ones and red;
He did a hundred happy things—
And then went to bed .