The man who whistled

"What is it?" I said, looking up from my book,

"Ssh" said my mother, taking a closer look,

"What, has it stopped?"; I could hear no sound,

"Don't worry", she said, "It'll soon come around.

Soon I heard it, from, somewhere quite near,

"What song is it?" I asked; I couldn't quite figure out the notes,

"Moonriver" she said, staring straight down the road,

The tune was dreamy, yet sometimes quite low,

I watched as the man wandered to and fro,

Hands in his pockets, mouth shaped in an "o",

Soon he turned a corner, and left,

The melody of his chorus repeating in my head,

I stood there, mesmerised, staring in awe,

And I kept thinking of

The man who whistled.