At the bottom of the sea,
Sitting there as silent as the grave,
Thousands of memories,
Lost to the waves.

Hundreds of plots,
Without bodies or names,
A silent shoe of the sot,
With a chilling voice of vain.

The silence so deep,
The water so calm,
The harp which weeps,
And played the psalms.

The lone bowler hat,
Belonging to man,
Who died by his wife,
Holding her hand.

The china plates,
Mark the untold grave,
In their wooden crates,
Being the same as that day.

The floor of the abyss,
Has hidden stories to tell,
With the bodies of the missed,
Trapped by the Iron Cell.

Glass vases upon the ledge,
The same before She went,
The people who were all on edge,
As they began their slow descent.

So remember the items,
And what they really mean,
It is the unknown grave,
There grave in the sea.