He let out a long slow sign. if everyone wants to clap, he said finally with Little enthusiasm In his voice. now is the time to do it.
as if on cue, Christopher Robin himself walked into the clearing.
That’s a lovely poem, he said in the kind of voice. the seven years old has been hanging back at the edge of the clearing until Eeyore had finished.
now he brushed back his Auburn bangs, which had a grown long and shaggy over the summer months and looked around at all his friends he felt a lump in his throat. he loved the odd collection of animals more than anything in the world he loved sweet innocent piglet with his squeaky voice and fear of, well, everything.
there was Kanga and her joy Roo who even during this somber occasion couldn’t stop moving.
