Would Cook, I wonder, ever have dreamt
Of seventeen eighty-eight,
Of convict ships and dismal cargoes
Rushing onward to their fate?
As he sailed the eastern waters
Did he see the prison yards,
Were the gallows, gaunt and tall
Surrounded by the spectral guards?
Did he hear the groans and cries,
The cat ‘o nine, its evil hiss…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem