Last time period complete 350,000 of us were put to death
clubbed or shot, hunters for ever and a day took away our breath
Close to our mothers, mendacious near in the snow
we were but babes and we could not know
When firstborn we glimpsed the ships on the the deep cold
we were unafraid, not reasoning they'd be so bold
But onto the ice and done our come to rest the men strode
breaching our nursery, and incoming our clan fold
As they approached we looked on, unable to understand
the expressions on their faces, the armaments in their hands
At prime we didn't stir, but later the men toward us ran
it rapidly became a slay and we were the lambs
This was our prototypic vulnerability to humans, staffs and guns
as we looked up, they at full tilt smitten us near their clubs
Some of us didn't die from the blows-we were one and only stunned
our short whist inert battering as they skinned us, spilling our blood
Later, the parents or fastener babies who managed to survive
moved on the ice and maroon snow, in disbelief, and cried
Grieving for the mislaid ones whose fur-less bodies lay so still
not wise to if the man would be back, or if they'd had their compress...
To a future, where on earth "their fill" is gone and past
a security interest to halt the killing, an curse word that will ultimate.
Copyright 2007 Kathy Pippig Harris
If you would approaching to help, the Humane Society of the United States is a groovy launch.
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