It Is A Terrible Thing For An

The Spring Has Sprung, The Grass Is Rizz. I Wonder Where Them Birdies Is?

Chess Has This In Common With Making Poetry; That The Desire For It Comes Upon The Amateur In Gusts.

Eeyore, The Old Grey Donkey, Stood By The Side Of The Stream And Looked At Himself In The Water. "pathetic," He Said. "that's What It Is. Pathetic."

But Now I Am Six. And I'm Clever As Clever. And Now I Think I'll Stay Six Now Forever And Ever.

When Late Morning Rolls Around And You're Feeling A Bit Out Of Sorts, Don't Worry; You're Probably Just A Little Eleven O'clockish.