Whiny

Whiny whispers drift through the afternoon,
A plaintive sigh that lingers in the air—
Each complaint a soft, persistent tune,
That drags the sunshine into sullen glare.

It slides across the kitchen linoleum,
A muted grumble over burnt‑toast bread,
The kettle’s whistle answered by a glum
Murmur that insists the day is misled.

Yet in that whine there’s honesty laid bare,
A tender thread of vulnerability,
A fragile plea for kindness, gentle care,
Hidden beneath the surface’s vanity.

So let us hear the whine, not shut it out,
But wrap it warm in understanding’s fold—
For even murmurs, when they’ve had their doubt,
Can bloom into the brightest, truest gold.