“Thar’ she blows!” The whaler cries.
“A Southern Right!” Breaches before their very eyes.
Harpoons a ready they chase her down.
She dies, but many a sailor too is lost and drown.
But that was history, when whales were hunted for their oil.
Now we seek the chance to view and boast,
That a whale we spied. The thought of killing makes us recoil.
We watch them, thriving, free to live another day along the Albany coast.
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