Up and up the flags arose,
Down came her stern, from the dry docks bold,
The M.S. Titanic, in a dream of a pose,
There sat she, in the sea waves cold.
“Hooray” they all cheered, with their hands held high,
“God himself could not sink this ship” said someone solemn and proud,
As she left her harbour with her shoulders held back, her fist reaching for the sky,
As God watched from above, on glistening, snow white cloud.
Like a majestic eagle she flew,
Cutting the sea, like a bird does the air,
With her seemingly ever-watchful crew.
Then like crystal, fragile and weak,
Struck an iceberg, at full speed,
Her future, looking bleak,
Then men of her deck, they took heed.
The bow of her, it could not hold,
Down in the depths, is now this mighty craft.
Dead yet not unheard, are the voices of old,
Through the air of today, they still waft,
Stories of man’s pride, selfish and oh, so cold.
By: Nathanial Hesse
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