The Whistle eating shoe sagga

Its a poem. Its a poem about a whistle. XX. K

The Whistle was a pretty thing
All silvery and gold
And when I felt a little sad
It was my whistle that I'd hold
But now my whistles broken
And I dont know what to do
Since last week when I dropped it
and it was eaten by my shoe!

It started off a pleasant day
All happiness and fun
Until it came to be that
I got in trouble from my mum
So I went to my whistle to get some cheer
but within three toots cheer was snatched by fear.
Fear as I watched in terrorfilled Gloom
as my poor pretty whistle fell to its doom.
Out of my mouth and onto the floor
Where It was gobbled up to be seen no more!
On that treacherous day
I swore that in no way
would I ever wear sneakers again
Mum had a fit
& Dad hit me a bit
But that didn't change my mind.
My feet shall stay bare!
I shall walk without care!
And thats how it will stay for all time.