Convoy.

[Trampshipman]

A cold grey dawn is breaking, bringing a dismal leaden sky.
A mist lies on the rivers face, the tide is flooding high.
Grey shapes lie out at anchor, swinging silent to the tide,
no sound or movement from their decks as to their chains they ride.
An air of stillness all about, a deep quiet all around.
Soft slap of water `gainst river wall the only muted sound.
A chill wind comes from off the sea, the mist begins to clear.
A great host of ships is now revealed lying far and near
Ship on ship, line on line, all painted wartime grey,
a rendezvous of merchantmen waiting to get `under way`.
Now the stillness breaks as a launch starts up, and heads out from a quay,
making for a `Commodore`s` ship with orders to `put to sea`.
Men appear on focsle heads, shouts drift across to shore.
These ships are making ready to sail, into a ruthless war.
There goes a pilot boat, she`ll have last minute mail.
Signal lamps flash and flags break out, these ships are about to sail.
Now comes the clanking of windlasses from ships far down the line,
to be repeated from ship to ship as each reaches her appointed time.
Steam drifting on the morning air, chains groaning under strain.
Anchors rising, dripping mud, ships swinging into lane.
Lines of ships now `underway`, down river towards the sea.
Hundreds of men `outward bound` to an unknown destiny.
Yet more ships coming out to join, being towed out from a dock.
A destroyer dashing down the line, like a sheepdog with its flock.
Ship on ship, line on line, standing out a grey sea to face,
each finding station on the next, each taking her appointed place.
Big ships, small ships, tankers and tramps, steaming out to a hostile sea,
heading for theatres far far out, where enemies are sure to be.
They face foes of old which all ships know, fog, ice, and raging storm,
but also now there are enemies new, dangers beyond the norm.
There`s sudden torpedo and deadly mine, there`s bomb and long range shell.
There`s a blinding flash and deafening roar, there`s death in a burning hell.
So there they go, now far out, standing away from a saddened shore,
just shapes of grey on a cold seas face, steaming out to a ruthless war.
Once more there`s an air of stillness though the wind gives a lonely moan,
and the river lies quietly waiting, to see which ships come home


Copyright.
Trampshipman.

[Doc Vernon]

What a lovely Poem,great words !
Thanks
Cheers

[Trampshipman]

What a lovely Poem,great words !
Thanks
Cheers

No, my thanks to you ! Your comment gives me great pleasure !!!

Ken.