‘Twas the night before V-mas,
And all through the pod
Vaquita were gossiping,
With whispers and nods.
The fish were packed in the coral with care,
In hopes that St. Blue Whale would soon be there.
The calves all rested on the water’s surface,
But they couldn’t sleep because they were nervous.
The parents set out the croakers and milk,
And lay on their seabeds, softer than silk.
When up on the surface arose such a splash
That sounded like Narwhals in heated clash.
Papa V swam to the top like a jet.
And guess who was there? Guess whom he met?
St. Blue Whale, floating with a smirk.
Warm eyes and a smile, he couldn’t be a jerk.
He had eight antsy dolphins pulling his reins,
And a sack full of treats like seaweed canes.
He left some presents under the Christmas Reef,
And called to his dolphins, “Now Swimmer, now Spinner, now Breacher and Sleef,
On Logger, on Ringer, on Pinger and Turf!”
And St. Whale and his pod swam off in the surf.