I’m the teller of a mighty tale,
Of a mad captain and a white whale,
Writ in prose so poetic
And manner aesthetic;
My moniker? – Call me Ishmael.
We have rescued a sailor
Of Pequod the whaler;
She sailed from Nantucket, well-found.
His name it is Ishmael;
He says that a white whale
Sent her to the bottom – all drowned
But he – all were lost;
In the sea they were tossed;
All was smashed up to splinters and gore.
It’s a blood chilling tale
Of a man killing whale;
Of revenge, and of madness and war.
Ahab was the master;
This sorry disaster
Relates to his ivory peg.
The story began
In the Sea of Japan
Where the white whale, it bit off his leg.
Revenge Ahab needed;
No warnings he heeded;
Now all except Ishmael are dead.
This captain insane
With a hate addled brain,
All the rest, to destruction, he led.
Now the monster and he,
They are spliced, in the sea,
In the depths where leviathans sound.
And they never will rise;
Ishmael saw with his eyes,
That by line and by lance they were bound.
They are selling the milk far too cheap!”
So blusters the ruddy-faced creep.
“And it isn’t our fault!”
‘It’s entirely yours, dolt!
As you sow, stupid, so shall you reap.’
She knows the suffering of war too well.
The blast of bombs she managed to survive
And safety reach, and so her story tell.
Thank Providence that she escaped alive
And for her work – untiring does she strive
To free those whom the powerful ignore;
Those whom the evil legions would deprive
Of life, by their relentless holy war.
Her eyes have witnessed killing, seen the gore.
She bears the scars of wounds inflicted there.
Reminders of that day when shrapnel tore
Her flesh, but still her enemies she’d dare
To stop her, as she seeks to spread the light:
Tell all who value freedom – they must fight.