“...I am writing these poems from inside a lion...”

“And all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.”

“Although I cannot see your faceAs you flip these poems awhile,Somewhere from some far-off placeI hear you laughing--and I smile.”

“When I am gone what will you do?Who will write and draw for you?Someone smarter--someone new?Someone better--maybe YOU!”

“Draw a crazy picture, Write a nutty poem, Sing a mumble-gumble song,Whistle through your comb. Do a loony-goony dance 'Cross the kitchen floor, Put something silly in the world That ain't been there before.”

“You don't have to shoot me," says the young lion. "I will be your rug and I will lie in front of your fireplace and I won't move a muscle and you can sit on me and toast all the marshmallows you want. I love marshmallows.”

“My skin is kind of sort of brownish pinkish yellowish white. My eyes are greyish blueish green, but I'm told they look orange in the night. My hair is reddish blondish brown, but its silver when its wet, and all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.”