When my little daughter was only nine months old
I thought she was the smartest child and just as good as gold
I just could not imagine what my life would be like
If God had never blessed me with this darling little tyke
She was even good in church which for babies if so rare
I would set a blanket on the floor and let her play down there
And she would play so quietly with all her baby things
And I would think my angel child was good enough for wings
One time I heard a noise in church that really made me bristle
Somebodies naughty little child had just begun to whistle
Not a little soft one but a whistle that was shrill
I wondered why that mother didn't make her child be still
Then some people on my bench looked at one another
Then they looked at me and frowned, because I was whistlers mother.
by Merrila Kowacich copyright 1999
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