On Monday, When The Sun Is Hot,

I Do Remember, And Then When I Try To Remember, I Forget.

But [pooh] Couldn't Sleep. The More He Tried To Sleep The More He Couldn't. He Tried Counting Sheep, Which Is Sometimes A Good Way Of Getting To Sleep, And, As That Was No Good, He Tried Counting Heffalumps. And That Was Worse. Because Every Heffalump That He Counted Was Making Straight For A Pot Of Pooh's Honey, And Eating It All. For Some Minutes He Lay There Miserably, But When The Five Hundred And Eighty-seventh Heffalump Was Licking Its Jaws, And Saying To Itself, "very Good Honey This, I Don't Know When I've Tasted Better," Pooh Could Bear It No Longer.

When You Wake Up In The Morning, Pooh," Said Piglet At Last, "what's The First Thing You Say To Yourself?" "what's For Breakfast?" Said Pooh. "what Do You Say, Piglet?" "i Say, I Wonder What's Going To Happen Exciting Today?" Said Piglet. Pooh Nodded Thoughtfully. "it's The Same Thing," He Said.

There Must Be Somebody There, Because Somebody Must Have Said "nobody.

Well," Said Pooh, "what I Like Best," And Then He Had To Stop And Think. Because Although Eating Honey Was A Very Good Thing To Do, There Was A Moment Just Before You Began To Eat It Which Was Better Than When You Were, But He Didn't Know What It Was Called.