Sonar

Beneath the briny deep’s cold shroud,
A sonar pulse sends out its sound—
A whispered click that seeks the gloom,
Returning echoes from the tomb
Of sunken hull and silent shoal,
Painting the ocean’s hidden whole.

Each ping a thread of silver thought,
Weaving the unseen, unseen,
Till the abyss yields up its tale,
In British seas where legends sail.