Here in the hundred-acre wood
lots of honey-colored pathways
we don’t eat, but only taste.
Owl, a little black raincloud,
says, “Tut it looks like rain!”
Afraid of Heffalumps and Woozles,
germs lurking past curfew.
Oh bother, a nightmare brigade
under foggy, crescent lampshade.
It’s d’Verse’s Quadrille night and De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) asks us to consider the world “bother” in a poem of exactly 44 words. It was impossible for me not remember this episode of Winnie the Pooh that frightened me greatly as a child and fear of germs and curfews here now that I imagine make the park a spooky place in the late evenings.