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Child Learning To Whistle

A chill childish morning is unfolding
A shrill whistle through lips full.
A foggy dream this must seem
To listeners of the young trill wisher.
No reply heard from he, to his melancholy.
So he sits still and whistles shrill still
‘till the morning calm which is gone before long
and then off to other adventures fill.
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Does anyone remember learning to whistle? Well this is my memory of that day, a foggy day in Vancouver. I was perhaps 8 or 9 years old. I got up too early one morning and since no one was around just decided to go to the park, climb the monkey bars and learn to whistle.
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