Along the shore there floats
a lump amidst the hull of boats,
a flash of gray beneath the sky.
A substance is passing by.
It is not a rock, goiter or stump,
but calcified treasure that makes them jump.
The solidified lump catches their eye,
But more than a substance is passing by.
Tis “floating gold” the Australians do see,
a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The folks from Down Under turn ghastly pale
at the sight of the treasure coughed up by a whale.
From the bowels of the whale comes valuable stuff;
for perfumes and medicines, there is never enough.
Tis what Ishmael saw from his perch on high,
It is ambergris that is passing by.