Brave Hurricanes and Spits still claw and climb
Far up into the English summer sky,
At the lingering end of a golden time
As wild young lads and aging empires die.

The Hood and Rodney still the Channel guard
Against the strident Men of Destiny,
Then shellfire falls; the helm is over hard
But the brave old ships keep the Narrow Sea.

Dear Grandpa and the boys sport thin tin hats
In Sunday afternoon’s invasion drill.
Gram says he’s too damned old for all of that
But she too smells the smoke of Abbeville.

Faith does not pass with ephemeral time:
Brave Hurricanes and Spits still claw and climb.