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