That one perfect whistle, that’s what I sought.
Loud ones and quiet ones, that’s what I bought.
Hoping, expecting, seeking it out:
That one fipple flute that can whisper and shout;
That neighbors won’t hate, but has sessions appeal,
And plays in all keys, every genre to fill.
But facing the facts I had to get real!
There isn’t one whistle that fills every bill.
One each of each key of each whistlesmith will!
–Mack Hoover 3/5/05–
Great and very appropriate poem , Mack ! 
Don’t know why I’m laughing ? Guess it’s because I’m identifing with the whole viscious cycle. 
LOL
Have a Great Day and Fun Whistling !!
There once was a lawyer from Louth
Got a counterfeit Overton down South
He thought it was real
And complained with some zeal
Now he’s sorry he shot off his mouth
I hope this isn’t a highly personal confession Mack. The doctors told me that making whistles would make the WhOA go away… Apparently they were mistaken? 
BTW: Nice poem!
No, WhOA is no longer my woe as onward and upward I go.
The new problem is WhIM with prognosis grim
And there is no cure that I know.
Whistle Improvement Malady
Mack
Ha! 
Good poem