Dr Knife's whale watching urgings --
Chronic, festrous, desperate purgins --
Prompted once some coastal searchings.
Mapping whale-kinds north-most reaches --
Lands of life-infecting leeches --
Granted Knife his viewing beaches.
Spying for their spout-spawned spraying --
Sea-salt spread by species playing --
Stood he still, and started staying.
Waiting gave him time for thinking --
That his view was quickly shrinking --
Soon he knew his boat was sinking.
Timed then for his wish fulfilling --
Seascapes burst with fishful filling --
Herds of whales to sight were milling.
Leaking boat with water brimming,
Left poor Knife in hopeful swimming,
Clutching to some floating trimming.
Bitten, drenched and nearly drowning --
Scared, he sensed a dreadful pounding --
Coming from his near surrounding!
Planning there of whalesome gaming --
Twenty calves in need of taming --
Started trying tail-splash aiming.
Somehow Knife survived the thrashing --
Gasping breaths between each splashing --
Sculling home in frantic fashion.
Landing swore he heartful heaving
"The sick to me is my true cleaving,
The whale alone I now am leaving."