Last Song Of The Whale. Poem by willow moon pearce

Whales must think of humans as a paradox.
We rent boats to photograph them and listen
Overcome with emotion
To the to haunting cries from the deep.

Whilst we think of these wonderful and
Intelligent creatures,
Crews in boats will be out there
With their explosive tipped harpoons
Chasing them until exhaustion sets in.

Dull thud and a missile finds its mark
Blood fountains in the air
Slow death as the lungs are ruptured
Then brought to the side of the whaling ship
They are stripped of their fat and flesh.

They are beautiful and graceful -
But how can anyone see them in the wild and hear
Their graceful song - their song of freedom
And wish this barbarous death
On a treasure of the sea.

Our childrens children will see their end
Only see them in text books
Man - the killer of beauty and legend

These are mammals with warm blood
And the tradgedy is -
They should not have to die.