| Hammers. Timbers. Iron. Steel.They're laying down a | | | | glancing blow", I think,She will not, cannot, must not |
| mighty keel.As ant-like workers scurry roundI hear a | | | | sink!But down below the decks, unseen:In sneaks the |
| truly riveting sound.And as she rises midst the swarmI | | | | ocean cold and keen.And as up each steel wall it |
| see the beauty of her form.(He has no soul who | | | | growsIt reaches top, and overflows.Boats are lowered. |
| cannot seeHow I am forced to call her "she".)And then, | | | | Ah! Sad few."Women and babes first!", shout the |
| 'a sudden, she's a ship!She waltzes down that mighty | | | | crew.A panicked man, in dressing-gown:"My God! My |
| slip.Then, in the water, no splash, mind,This lady floats. | | | | God! She's going down!""Nearer my God, to thee how |
| Oh! How refined!Southampton docks: I want to | | | | near".The band plays on, to calm the fear."You've done |
| feel,And touch, and taste the British steel!Palatial, and | | | | your duty, lads, now go."But does the music stop? Oh |
| stately too.(There was no like in Xanadu.)The | | | | no.A fervent prayer to He who savesAs down she |
| passengers, the crew, all weAre safe aboard, so out | | | | slips beneath the waves.The silence!Then those |
| to sea.The cheers, the midget well-wish fleet,That siren | | | | dreadful screams.(I sometimes hear them in my |
| deck beneath my feet!A jewelled city, in the night,From | | | | dreams.)Next morn, upon that sorrowed billowA |
| shame, the very stars took flight.Her mighty speed | | | | wreath, a chair, a toy, a pillow.No souls, the souls are all |
| seemed but a creep,So steady that she seemed | | | | asleep.I stand in silent prayer, and weep.Patrick |
| asleep.Indeed the city slept. A fewRemained awake, | | | | Lockerby - March 2005Born 1946, London, England. |
| they mostly crew,To feed the rav'nous boilers' | | | | Grammar-school educated. |
| maw,To bake the bread, sort mail, and more.I almost | | | | Retired engineer.Interests: |
| dozed and wished my bed,But:"Iceberg!", "Iceberg! | | | | Anything at all to do with language & linguistics, esp. -- |
| Dead ahead!"With straining engines, spinning wheel,She | | | | poetry, prose; |
| strove to swerve her awesome keelAnd almost, | | | | natural language processing; |
| almost, but, not quite --A straining shrieking rent the | | | | control and communication in human systems; |
| nightAnd rent her hull. (I took no fright.)'Twas but a | | | | law, lies, logic. |