Dreadnought

Dreadnought
Conjures images of battleships
With HMS and carved figureheads
Pendants and signals flapping gallantly
As she cuts a steady path
Through the chop of some foreign sea

Fear nothing
Is what it means
In that uniquely British way
Of dressing up something difficult
To sound noble and innate
Like stiff upper lips

Dread mortality
Is what my mind tells me
Through the pit in my stomach
And the look in her eyes
The squeeze of my doctor’s hand
As he bid me good luck

Fear ignorance
Is what I must live by
Not fear of what I know
That all things pass
Even and especially me
Except what we give to others.