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Poem	Old Mr. Philosopher Comes for Ben and Claire, An ugly man, a tall man, With bright-red hair. The books that he’s written No one can read. “In fifty years they’ll understand: Now there’s no need. “All that matters now Is getting the fun. Come along, Ben and Claire; Plenty to be done.” Then old Philosopher, Wisest man alive, Plays at Lions and Tigers Down along the drive— Gambolling fiercely Through bushes and grass, Making monstrous mouths, Braying like an ass Twisting buttercups In his orange hair, Hopping like a kangaroo, Growling like a bear. Right up to tea-time They frolic there. “My legs are wingle,” Says Ben to Claire.
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