There's a whale

 There's a whale in the Shannon looking rather sad,

It soaked John Moran's press conference, which was terribly bad.
The Hyde Road lads all saw it and shouted, "Dinner!"
Now they're standing soaked through, and somehow even thinner.

That whale is a mystery, adrift in a forlorn mood,
Lingering by the trolley graveyard, having a thoughtful brood.
I wonder what's turning in that great whale's mind—
Life, the universe, and what answers we might find.

Perhaps it's pondering currents, or dreams beneath the foam,
Or wondering why a creature so vast can feel so far from home.
It surfaces in silence, then slowly slips from view,
Leaving the Shannonside to wonder what it knows that we don't too.