In March two thousand and eight,
fortune smiled on two whales' fate.
I was at Mahia beach,
when open sea they couldn't reach.
We tried to no avail,
heaving on each tail,
and did all we could I suppose,
until help arrived with a bottlenose.
Moko was his name.
In minutes he found fame,
the whales quick to reassure,
leading them from the shore.
Pygmies he strove to liberate.
Oh how we did celebrate.
He asked for no reward,
and from that day was adored.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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A charming, heartwarming tale showing your usual compassion for animals. Short and sweet! Keep writing, Stephen, and sharing your insights with us.