The ship was the pride of the
American side
Coming back from some mill
in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go,
it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain
well seasoned
Concluding some terms with
a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded
for Cleveland
And later that night when
the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind
they'd been feelin'?
The wind in the wires made
a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the
railing
And every man knew, as the
captain did too,
T'was the witch of November
come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the
breakfast had to wait
When the Gales of November
came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was
freezin' rain
In the face of a hurricane
west wind.
When suppertime came, the old
cook came on deck sayin'.
Fellas, it's too rough to
feed ya.
At Seven P.M. a main hatchway
caved in, he said
Fellas, it's been good t'know
ya
The captain wired in he had
water comin' in
And the good ship and crew
was in peril.
And later that night when
his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund
Fitzgerald.
Does any one know where the
love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes
to hours?
The searches all say they'd
have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put fifteen more
miles behind her.
They might have split up or
they might have capsized;
May have broke deep and took
water.
And all that remains is the
faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons
and the daughters.
Lake Huron rolls, Superior
sings
In the rooms of her ice-water
mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a
young man's dreams;
The islands and bays are for
sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can
send her,
And the iron boats go as the
mariners all know
With the Gales of November
remembered.
In a musty old hall in Detroit
they prayed,
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.
The church bell chimed till
it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund
Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the
Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call
'Gitche Gumee'.
Superior, they said, never
gives up her dead
When the gales of November
come early!
Marco Giunco |
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