Away back bay where worn ships go
When they are feeling old and frail,
The evening air is often filled
With many a wild, adventurous tale
Of dark-souled pirates, storms, and ghosts
The ships have seen in sailing time.
One rig sits silent at the dock—
The S.S. Cedric of the White Star Line.
One night, a snub-nosed tug bounced up
And, giggling with a high-pitched peep
Cried out, “The ship at old pier five
Is cracked and senile, fast asleep.”
The liners laughed. The brigantines
All sneered and cracked their masts in time,
And every rigger ridiculed
The S.S. Cedric of the White Star line.
The darkness deepened. Silence fell.
Then northern lights began to play
On wave and water, ship and sky
Until the air was light as day.
And from the pier marked number five
A voice sang, “I recall the time . . .”
“Who spoke?” squealed Tug. Then, “It is I,
The S.S. Cedric of the White Star Line.”
Now, shocked, the ships stirred at their docks.
They listened reverently and still
As the old ship spoke of a mighty voice,
Majestic steps that made decks thrill,
And love outshining lighthouse beams
Throughout the passing years of time.
“I carried the Master in 1912,” sighed
The S.S. Cedric of the White Star Line.
Away back where the worn ships go
A warmth has settled on the pier.
And all the steamers, scows, and schooners
Sleep all day, then gather near
Old number five when sunset comes.
And there they lose all track of time
As they hear of the journey of 1912 from
The S. S. Cedric of the White Star Line.
Iambic Nana 