I’ll tell a tale, of a big grey boat.
The Titanic. Sunk. Long ago.
Peace on earth, good will to men,
you’d think that would be, the very end.
But down below I heard a thud,
it seems to be trudging through the mud.
Speak of beauty, speak of love,
Here's a ship, encased in mud.
It’s ok, it won't stay long,
perhaps to eat, and then be gone.
And, it may stay for evening tea,
we’ll just have to wait and see.
Just long enough to leave some mud,
and wet, and scum, and filthy crud.
After all, it's still a sunken ship.
Rotten, rusted. Void of life.
Old decrepit, tired and worn.
Legend, legacy, memory gone.
Just a ghost that is no more:
hope, new life, forgotten dreams,
sealed inside the ocean seams.
Where it lays, until the end.
A choice. Complacent. Let it rest,
in pieces.
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