We saw the conning tower first,
in the darkness of the deep.
A robotic submersible
Found the boat on its final sweep
Some two hundred and thirty fathoms down
That’s where the crew of the Greyback sleeps.

At the end of February in Forty Four
A chance encounter brought them low.
A Betty from a carrier force
Delivered what proved the fatal blow.
The sea poured in from all around,
Trapped at their stations, the mariners drowned.
No hope of rescue would appear
as each man faced his private fear.

It’s the nature of the silent service,
The danger of their chosen role:
Never to see home port again,
on their eternal last patrol.