The Mighty Hood
Fifteen hundred fathoms, she lies- straight down-
Heart stopped- in a watery grave uncovered-
The Mighty Hood still hoods memories of Clowns
With message flags unfurled- into battle hurled
Dreaming Glories- like Nelson, Trafalgar bound;
Till her magazine, enemy shells discovered
And stopped her soul when those ready rounds, found.
Then hundreds of souls in the North Sea floundered.
And still there , now lies The Mighty Hood
Frozen in time in freezing northern seas.
The final slumber for her heroic crew
But when the robbers come, what can we do
To answer those dead sailors’ forlorn pleas
And respect this war grave- as we always should?
