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A female fin whale fishing for herring, was trapped in a pond on the coast of New Foundland.
At the mouth of the harbour roamed her guardian mate,
chasing fish in to her as best he could make.
Imprisoned she'd be until next spring tide,
when the water would rise and out she could ride.
But luck was not with her for pregnant she was,
and an eighty ton whale needs food just because.
And sportsmen from town to brighten their lives,
brought down high powered rifles to shoot at the prize.
Day after day and thousands of rounds,
writhing in pain to pleasure those clowns.
Some folks were there, they could not help,
but a man saw the whales from high on a shelf.
"She got weaker and weaker you could tell by her blows,
more air she needed so more often she rose".
"Her guardian outside could not see her for sure,
but each time she blew, he'd blow just once more"
Fin whales are rorquals and they mate for life,
how would you feel be it your darlin' wife?
Through icy waters they love and they play,
and grow a thick blubber to keep cold away.
This mother whale her blubber burned thin,
her bones could be seen, ribs through her skin.
Her eyes were shot out she was holed all around,
she died, freezing and starving she drowned.
The guardian he left what could he say,
he tried to tell us in his own way.
He spelled out his message his words of dispair,
but it must seem to him that we really don't care.
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