A Guy Thing
I Ima Ryma
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In summertime after they mate,
Male walrus gather on the shores
Of an isle to recuperate,
The sound of all in singing soars.
A chiming, like a ringing bell,
Floats across the north Bering Sea
As numbers of male walrus swell
With tales to tell musically.
Coming out of water cold white,
Slowly they turn a rosy pink.
The walrus warm in the sunlight,
Spending time in male bonded link.
But once they've rested up enough
They move on to new walrus stuff.
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