Alan Alexander Milne

It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come.’

("What does 'under the name' mean?" asked Christopher Robin. "It means he had the name over the door in gold letters, and lived under it."

You see, what I meant to do,’ he explained, as he turned head-over-heels, and crashed on to another branch thirty feet below, ‘what I meant to do—’

‘Of course, it was rather—’ he admitted, as he slithered very quickly through the next six branches.

‘It all comes, I suppose,’ he decided, as he said good-bye to the last branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, ‘it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!’

He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose, and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was Christopher Robin.

(‘Was that me?’ said Christopher Robin in an awed voice, hardly daring to believe it.

‘That was you.’

Christopher Robin said nothing, but his eyes got larger and larger, and his face got pinker and pinker.)

So Winnie-the-Pooh went round to his friend Christopher Robin, who lived behind a green door in another part of the Forest.