F.1 Poem - Girls
The Whistler by June Crebbin

My little brother is almost six,
He’s good at maths and magic tricks,
He’s quite a neat writer,
He can hop and jump and pull funny faces,
He can do top buttons and tie his laces,
He’s a fearless fighter.

But he wanted to whistle – and though he tried
Till his face went red and he almost cried,
He still couldn’t do it,
So he asked me how and I said: ‘Make an O
With your mouth and then, very gently, blow
A whistle through it.’

And he did – but now the trouble is
My little brother practises
All day long,
He sucks in his cheeks, he puffs and blows,
Whatever he’s doing, his whistling goes
On and on . . . and on . . .