June has opened in Sewanee, Tennessee with four gorgeous days so I’m sharing one of Pooh’s nature poems. A. A. Milne’s self-deprecating poet describes sensory input blending together in a moment of pure bliss.
Oh, the butterflies are flying,
Now the winter days are dying,
And the primroses are trying
To be seen.
And the turtle-doves are cooing.
And the woods are up and doing.
For the violets are blue-ing
In the green.
Oh, the honey-bees are gumming
On their little wings, and humming
That the summer, which is coming.
Will be fun.
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.