The Sinking of a Troopship

Proudly she left the quay and sailed away,

While handkerchiefs were waving in the wind,

And kisses thrown by loved ones left behind,

 Who little thought their lads were gone for aye.

On, she went, displaying British pluck,

Through regions where pirates prowl around;

When suddenly there came the dreaded sound

Of crashing, rending timbers – she was struck.

In rushed the waters like a flooded tide,

While every man strained every sinew  sore,

And clenched his teeth, while at the ropes he tore,

To lower the boats over her listing side.

Bravely the troops stood there with bated breath,

Their feet encircled with the swirling foam;

Their last thoughts flying back to their old home,

While like true Britain’s sons they faced grim death.

A thousand lives lost!” Ah, war’s tragic toll!

Their white lips murmering “Lord, receive my soul.”

E Lilian Vyner 

 Publ. 22 April 1916