Now We Are Six

King John was not a good man—

He had his little ways.

And sometimes no one spoke to him

For days and days and days.

And men who came across him,

When walking in the town,

Gave him a supercilious stare,

Or passed with noses in the air—

And bad King John stood dumbly there,

Blushing beneath his crown.

King John was not a good man,

And no good friends had he.

He stayed in every afternoon...

But no one came to tea.

And, round about December,

The cards upon his shelf

Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,

And fortune in the coming year,

Were never from his near and dear,

But only from himself.

Binker—what I call him—is a secret of my own,

And Binker is the reason why I never feel alone.

Playing in the nursery, sitting on the stair,

Whatever I am busy at, Binker will be there.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,

And Mummy is the best since the world began,

And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan—

But they can't

See

Binker.

Binker's always talking, 'cos I'm teaching him to speak:

He sometimes likes to do it in a funny sort of squeak,

And he sometimes likes to do it in a hoodling sort of roar ...

And I have to do it for him 'cos his throat is rather sore.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,

And Mummy knows all that anybody can,

And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan—

But they don't

Know

Binker.