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.”
Copyright © Laura Doore | Year Posted 2021
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