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Whaling Station Deception Island

Pimpled by a weathered age
You have seen much.
Lying there,
Desolate,
Alone.

The small indentations pierced sharp by flaying knives
Slowly weather away.
Over time they diminish, like the pain, hurt less, like the pain.
Exposed to air and wind,

Old bones bleach out
Longing for the water...
And the whale that was.

Written by:
Judy Hall | Trainee

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