The Piglet
by Edgar Allen Pooh Bear


Once upon a midnight dreary
as I pondered something cheery
over many a round and empty pot of hunny on the floor

As I nodded nearly napping,
suddenly I heard a rapping -
as if someone gently tapping,
tapping at my garden door.
It’s only just the rabbit, thought I
Tigger or perhaps Eyore-
only this and nothing more.

“Oh bother, now I’ve quite forgoten, for my head is stuffed with cotton
How many pots of hunny had I , I think that I had counted four.
Still the tapping will not let up,
my guess is that I ought to get up,
Get up now and go and answer.
see who’s knocking at my door-
It’s probably the Tigger think I,
Tigger knocking at my door.

As if some spirit did control me
Opened I the door quite slowly
Looking out into the night I saw the Piglet at my door
“Come in Piglet,” said I smiling,
while his countenance beguiling
showed no worry of a woozle or a hefalump for sure;
“Piglet Piglet, good to see you, please come in,” I did implore.
Quoth the Piglet “Where’s Eyore?”

I told him that I had no inkling
But noticed I, his forehead wrinkling
and told him I’d not seen the Donkey in three hours or maybe four.
"But do come in," I itterated
muddled now and aggrevated.
“Piglet will you enter and stop standing here outside my door?”
Like a stuffed doll standing on the step here right outside my door.”
Asked the Piglet “Where’s Eyore?”

I pulled on my best galoshes, the kind that stay dry when it sloshes
and then together we did venture, where the angry wind doth roar.
Piglets silence grew more scornful,
While I hummed a tune quite mournful -
how no one knows how cold my toes grow tidllipom; they grow full sore.
Piglet gave no sign of caring how tiddly pom my toes grow sore,
Muttering only “Where’s Eyore?”

Then like a vision right before us,
while angels sang in happy chorus,
saw we both the donkey in his house of sticks without a door.
“Friend,” we cried so glad to find him,
with his tail tacked on behind him,
"Come with us and warm up where there is no snow upon the floor;
Only pots of hunny and a plate or two upon the floor.
Come with us my friend Eyore.”

In the cold my sight was blurring
but noticed I no sign of stirring-
“Eyore, good friend Eyore, is your spirit at some warmer shore?”
“No,” he said his voice quite dreary,
in sighing answer to my querey-
“my spirit is as cold as I am and perhaps a wee bit more;
But no one cares how cold Eyore gets, no one cares and that’s for sure-
No friends or warmth for poor Eyore.”

But with some coaxing and cajoling,
as we were his charms extolling,
Piglet and I finally brought him to my house and through my door.
I told a funny joke that I know,
as he sipped his cup of cocoa;
“Are you feeling better now, and are you happy, friend Eyore?
Or would you rather leave and go back to your sticks, good friend Eyore?”
Quoth the donkey
“ Nevermore.”

© Joe Thompson · www.imaginesongs.com

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