"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.