The small white whales in packs of pods <br /> <br />keep their pacts with us, the fated beasts. <br /> <br />They wail their songs and the water wavers, <br /> <br />and we who signed them waive our rights <br /> <br />to have them. Here is where they belong, <br /> <br />all right, and here is where I leave them: <br /> <br />their pale, bountiful bodies to the sea. <br /> <br />I see a pail of fish and I would rather <br /> <br />feed on palm wood than palm one up <br /> <br />to shed it to those seabirds. To bate the brink <br /> <br />of bygone beauty, I bring no bait. A thatch shed <br /> <br />on the shore would keep me closer. O idol <br /> <br />of the gulls and wingèd seagirls and idle guitar <br /> <br />players, paddle deep and far off from my kind <br /> <br />who peddle our wares like love-me-kindly petals.<br /><br />C.J. Sage<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sea-canaries/
