The whalers from Japan
Are not hunting for the white
Moby Dick, across the
Sothern seas, out of sight
Of land where the others,
Determined to push and fight,
To stop, what in their eyes,
Is neither needed nor right,
Will hunt the hunters
Across the antarctic night...
And the others act and organize
Ships to follow and pursue
The pursuers, they go down
To the ocean, sail over and through
The merciless weather and wave,
Sailing under a dying moon,
To see what they can stop, or save
From a Japanese cannon-fired harpoon.
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