Whistling Poem by John Carter Brown

I miss the sound of whistling
You don't hear it much these days;
Streets seem full of people
Who have lost those whistling ways.

Why this should be, I just don't know
But Oh, it's such a shame
That people will not pucker-up
And play the whistling game.

There was a time, the sound of it
Was not a special treat,
When every paper-boy, or girl
Went whistling down the street;

And in my youth I do recall
I'd practise until blue;
Refining trills and tremolo,
Which then I would review

With pals, as we, in concord
Around some old camp-fire,
Made friendly competition
In our noisy whistling choir.

So why the dearth of whistling,
That clear and lucid tone,
That only human songbirds
Seem bothered to bemoan?

Until the still lips come to miss
The skills they now disown,
I'll get another paper-round
And whistle on my own.

(Written April 2013)