To seem natural rather than to be natural.
When I was young, we always had mornings like this.
Turn around, Piglet. Step lightly, Pooh. This silly ol' dance is perfect for two.
Some people care too much. I think it's called love.
They wanted to come in after the pounds", explained Pooh, "so I let them. It's the best way to write poetry, letting things come.
I suppose that by this time they had finished their dressing. Roger Scurvilegs tells us nothing on such important matters; no doubt from modesty. "Next morning they rose," he says, and disappoints us of a picture of Udo brushing his hair.