Roses In An Underwater Room

He rested in the center of an underwater room,
On the ship which met its subserviant doom.
But why does the drowned bouquet still bloom?

A smile still lingers on his leather tissue skin,
Although he'll never see his beloved Sue again.
Happiness: he's past the point of fret in the end.
From the vessel and the body propped within,
His love and legend is what his shell will send,
To the elements seen and unseen,
'Tis nothing but a change of scene,
And once that ship fed the blue and green,
Other passengers all became fiends,
For their certain ends answered their means,
And that was not enough on the sinking St. Josephine.

And as hell reigned aquamarine all the while,
In the shrinking air pocket, one kept a smile,
Because straight above was the man's only child.
and below already was his wife; lover of carnal style.
Left to chance, up or down, was then less than miles.
But in between, in the now, is where we found him,
Grinning face the shade of bile.
We could smell the ancient roses through our masks,
How did the submerged scarlet frills still bloom? I ask.