From Mighty Acorns…
As a child, I’d wander Hundred Acre Wood
On the pages made from paper from its trees.
I heard that they chopped it down right where it stood
Because the bears were eating all the bees.
But I later learned that it never had grown at all,
There was no-such place, it was all just make-believe,
Or some said that it did in the pencil and the scrawl
Of the author who had plucked it out of his sleeve.
Pooh wouldn’t care, of course,
He knew the woods he knew –
But he isn’t here to ponder
Where his fav’rite forest grew.
I heard some people claim it lives within,
That we carry it, us all, inside our minds.
But since we can’t agree on where our common thoughts begin,
Then the woods we’re thinking of are diff’rent kinds.
And some say it simply is a real wood in Surrey
Which has only undergone a change of name.
But others say an inspiration source is far too blurry
To be ever thought as all-one-and-the-same.
Pooh wouldn’t care, of course,
The trees were just the trees –
But he isn’t here to wander-off
To put me at my ease.
Rhyming Couplets 