Unknown bumbling stumbling reading,
Of an old poem, its story older stored,
About the ‘Revenge’ of English men
Who died keeping Spain from our shores.
Sir Richards blazing stand, one I never knew,
The gallant English David, standing despite sick crew,
One little English ship, sailed out in Spanish deeps,
Her heart English oak, the oak we longed to keep.
For those acorns were all oak in every part,
The simple offspring, sailing English hearts,
And they took ‘Revenge’, like a terrier amongst the flock,
Outgunned, outnumbered, Spain the job to stop.
Unknown English acorns, half bilge sickly lain,
Such bravery they showed, difficult to explain,
They called quarters, forgetting sons and daughters,
One little English oak, against all the forests of Catholic Spain.
All day, all night, without any hope respite,
The acorns tore the forest, nails to the fight,
And lay shattered, in bloody morning light,
Spanish sorely wounded, such an impossibility of sight.
Now Sir Richards dying wish, was to sink their only ship,
But his officers denied, saying we fought here with pride,
Let us face our captors, for our victory cannot be denied,
Then the weather upped, and every man then died.
And I cried at Tennyson’s ‘Revenge’.
@Andrew Carnegie, wiping tears, Wiltshire January 11th 2017.