My son once asked me why so many fine ships
Are broken up without a reprieve
After years of loyal and exemplary service
I told him that they had endured their useful lives
And were now being rewarded with an eternal rest
He looked up at me with a confusion in his saucer blue eyes
I could see that he was rather doubtful
He then took a small card from his jacket pocket
Showing Turner’s masterpiece
The Fighting Temeraire
Then why is the sun blushing red at her final disgrace
He said without a hint of emotion in his young voice
I smiled but found it impossible to answer his question