Whistlemouth

Whistlemouth, whistles from his mouth He whistles at the dawns first light He whistles aloud for his lost love The love he lost, but cannot fight He wistles upto the moon above Remembering what his love had said “Stare up to that moon my love For you have that, as me, instead” His love lived way up on a cloud Which encycled the bluest moon She wanted to come down to earth But every moment would be too soon Whistlemouth missed his love, She was so beautiful and so fair She had the almightiest fangs And the least multicoloured hair She lived such a long way away It deeply broke him up inside Every night she was not with him He cried, cried and cried. She heard him in the dark of the night It made her quite sad inside and rather blue She had to let him go, and quickly Before the poor old Whistlemouth knew Whistlemouth’s love was Mouthwistle She was him, as he was much like her They are perfect together, so perfect Or should I say that they really were? Mouthwistle sang as loudly as she could Her song turned into a solemn scream She caused the bluest moon to shatter Gone forever, as that is how it seemed “Whistlemouth you will never find me, For the moon is gone and so am I, My song shall last on, and on forever But, for sanity sake love should die.”