Carriers

When the ship builders made their last ship
And the men in the dockyard laid down their tools
We cried with them at the loss of an industry
That made Britain great through four hundred years
And their tears were our tears for a tradition
That stood strong and powerful and was made of men.

Then the ships went away and the tankers and the coasters
Were built where labour is cheap (like everything today)
And our lives and our livelihoods are built
Upon low cost, low maintenance, low value and lower worth.
And we are made into pure consumers who know nothing
Of the skills of manufacture and strength.

But a war? Why is it a war? To be sure the contract
Was tendered far before September 11th, and the contract
Will end far beyond the next war. And yet the decision
Is made easier by a war elect that waits in the wings.
Though design is by our ancient enemy, we rejoice
That the men of the dockyards can ply their trade again
In dignity and with strength.

So let's drink to the carriers that bring life once again
To the deserted dockyards, and life to the men who
Work once more on the biggest of ships. For a time
Til the contract is filled.