the aging

the whales have come
ashore
to die.
to breathe in the air
that will
end
their swimming below
the long wide
sea.
they've tired, wearied
of this
round world,
age,
friends gone,
disease.
they rest now on the lapping
shore.
under the mist
of early morning.
too large to move,
too unwilling to be
saved, choosing
how they will leave.