The Whistler Of St Angelo Poem by Geoffrey Fafard

I do not know Italian tunes
But this whistled song
It bears a sadness
That I hear and that I feel
The song is whistled to the setting sun
And the rising moon
I feel the strain and the pain
Of too mangy years of whistling
I can not see a face and never will
Its on the other side
Of a high stone wall
And it is moving, moving away
From me
-
The tune is in a minor key
Always a sad thing
And all of my chest is hollow listening
I need something now- a drink
And my hand trembles writing
The whistle grows faint but still I hear
Why does he whistle this dark song to me
The song gets darker
The sea gets bluer
I am a little shaken, a little fearful
And I cast down my eyes
And find protection
Chewing my fingers and nails
On trembling hands
-
There is a ghost shark in the harbour
And he whistles under water
Oh! so now there is a duet
And a plot
And I have fallen
For the oldest trick in history.