Since the end of the nineteenth century,
In ceremonies for the launching of ships,
Thought to be good luck christening the bow,
A bottle smashed upon rarely eclipsed.
Belfast, Ireland at Harland, and Wolff’s shipyard,
RMS Titanic slipped stern-first into the sea,
No malt whiskey or champagne bottle here though,
White Star Line nought used any for she.
Considered bad luck from that May Day forward,
Many pondered upon the “unsinkable” quote,
Overwhelmed by her sheer size, fit and opulence,
Captain, crew and passengers could gloat.
Across the Atlantic to countless new opportunities,
Three classes uniting all, aside from disproportion,
Moët and punch romaine served in first class,
Calm sea and clear night sky heading to misfortune.
Thanks to Robert Ballard in September eighty-five,
The tragic wreck of RMS Titanic was discovered,
Among many varied artefacts brought to the surface,
Many intact bottles of champagne were recovered.
