Last year complete 350,000 of us were put to death
clubbed or shot, hunters indefinitely took distant our breath
Close to our mothers, corrupt near in the snow
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we were but babes and we could not know
When front we glimpsed the ships on the ocean cold
we were unafraid, not reasoning they'd be so bold
But onto the ice and finished our arrive the men strode
breaching our nursery, and entering our ethnic group fold
As they approached we looked on, unable to understand
the expressions on their faces, the firepower in their hands
At primary we didn't stir, but later the men toward us ran
it promptly became a assassinate and we were the lambs
This was our prototypic revelation to humans, staffs and guns
as we looked up, they quickly affected us next to their clubs
Some of us didn't die from the blows-we were solitary stunned
our whist yet pulsating as they scraped us, spilling our blood
Later, the parents or holdfast babies who managed to survive
moved on the ice and cherry snow, in disbelief, and cried
Grieving for the mislaid ones whose fur-less bodies lay so still
not informed if the human beings would be back, or if they'd had their spread...
To a future, where on earth "their fill" is gone and past
a reassurance to pause the killing, an curse word that will last.
Copyright 2007 Kathy Pippig Harris
If you would close to to help, the Humane Society of the United States is a good enough start in on.