All is tranquil,
At the heart of the sea,
Nothing is stirring,
Except the thought of what will be.
Stillness calms the air,
The sun caresses my being,
I feel nothing but the ethereal,
Mother Earth, I hear you sing.
The tides, they may get rough,
And the sands not what they were,
Yet, the Green is ever-flowing,
From the concrete saboteur.
Cetaceous ancestors! Hear my woes!
What pity is man, the cruelest of foes.
They take ill of your beauty and hunt you for sport.
And when souls cry out, \"Stop!\",
There is but slanderous retort
\"These beasts are of God, for the purpose of man,
They may not claim to the seas, like man doeth of land!\"
What claim does man have,
To conquer the seas?
Is it no more preposterous
Than of pollen to bees?