Monday's Poem: Thistle in My Whistle

Thistle in My Whistle

Thistle bristles in my whistle;

Sister slipped the thistle in.

Now my whistle doesn't tweet;

My whistle threet, threet, threets.

Sister used to be so thweet;

I'm glad she's almost three.

Since sister slipped the thistle in,

My whistle threet, threet, threets.

                                         Anne Knowles