There it is again: that horrible noise!
It’s going to drive me to tears!
These are not what I’d call a mother’s joys-
I feel like I’ve sat here for years!
He’s making a painting, a portrait of me!
An Arrangement in Grey and Black.
But the sounds he’s producing, in all honesty,
Make me want to give him a smack.
Well, I won’t look at him, my tin-eared son,
Always mangling some melody or other.
Now I’m stuck with this tune until he is done,
All because I’m a whistler’s mother!
©2012 Ajemian and Newcomb