Das Boot Poem by Patrick Fealy

Das Boot
Freighters mooring in the bay
tankers all in line
anchored like the grapes of wrath
to die upon the vine
Unter Wolfgang prowling deep
counting all his fish
torpedoe tubes are loading fast
while he barks out his wish
Kommen sie bald dunkel nacht
cloak us on the tide
In the dark der Vaterland
will soon show off her pride
creeping to the surface
sweat air non too soon
pig boats form to wolf packs
howling at the moon
Lighting up the western sky
with Valhalla's flame
shooting at most anything
War is not a game
diving in the tumult
bulkhead's groaning call
crushing as they sink below
the fathoms as they fall
hidden in confusion
safe under the waves
singing Tipperary
while they slip away