My dad was a whisper whistler.
You know the kind.
Instead of puckering up your lips
into a little oh,
you put your tongue between your teeth
sort of in a smile, and then you blow.
Anyone can do it.
Except most people don’t.
He’d come walking down the hall,
the whisper whistler,
to the tune of Hail Hail the Gang’s All Here,
and how I wish they were.
lillian the home poet 
My dad was as well. I’m smiling as I read. Precious and poignant poetry. Such a beautiful memory.
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So glad we have special memories like this! Missing my dad…..
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