Sleek leviathans of the deep, sluicing through the bellies of Antarctic swells
Pods of Finn Whales coursing through corridors of alabaster ice, unaware of an impending hell

Smaller than seals, rapacious intruders hoist their horrendous weapons of pain and gore,
These whaler sailors viciously cut through the elegant Finns to their very core.

Lives cut short for monetary gain, bloodied bodies of Finns, gathered and slain, and inflated, and collected,
Massive bubbles of blubber, bobbing in a grotesque parade of carcasses summarily selected.

But, in Mikkleson Harbor named for its captain, lies the sunken remains of their ship, their journey home
Cold karma leaves them abandoned and stranded, their water boat their only refuge and abode

Resources dwindling, eating penguins, innocents they had come to know,
Were stacked like frozen cordwood in the driving and drifting snow.

Captain Mikkleson lost in a storm, but a pale reprisal for the slaughter of the sacrificial Finns
The naked bones of water boat and whales remain a mute testimony of deplorable sins.