WHISTLING
Whistling, although hardly lyrical,
Seems a minor sort of miracle.
We think a note and out it comes!
Sound the trumpets! Beat the drums!
How do our lips know what to do?
They purse, and out it comes on cue!
The vocal chords do just the same
But that's a rather different game.
They're involuntary in a way;
We think a note and they obey.
But whistling's magical; we're in charge;
We make the aperture small or large
According to notes that we desire!
Squeeze smaller and the note goes higher.
But not just higher, it comes in tune!
However we do it, it's a boon.
Whistling's a delightful occupation,
Except for one minor complication.....
Those hair-line wrinkles round the lips!
Whistlers! Send me helpful tips!
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PERFECT DREAM
I had a perfect dream last night and in it all was golden
The world suffused with marigolds and dew.
And, in it, every question that had ever needed answer
Was answered, and my longings all came true!
I found the perfect lover, and we swooned the night away,
My destiny was sealed with many a kiss,
And the problems of the world were solved, I was proclaimed a hero
And I knew such power.......
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But, oh dear! What is this?
The dream is slipping from me! I need to bring it back!
It's fading and my memory's unsteady!
It's getting misty, faltering and I can't pin it down!
It's gone!
Is that the damned alarm already!!!!!
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