The Freighter Fitzgerald Gone

She was the very model of the modern freighter, Fitzgerald,
But on the day she sailed away, her fate was to be imperiled.
Hefty with ore, she left from shore, bent on a venture nautical—
A bigger boat than most, she toted a hold-bloated lot in hull.

The gale had blown; the waves were thrown at the big boat put in peril.
November witch was such a bitch, an out-of-control wind feral.
The families were sad to see and hear when they all got the news;
They knelt to pray that gloomy day, ’cause all of them had got the blues.

They got the news then got the blues; the crew was gone ’cause scotched, the cruise.

The witching gale the ship assailed; it seemed the Fitzgerald could bust—
There was no doubt Ma N. would rout: from her “mouth,” how that gal could gust.
In short, in matters nautical, ship was by any stretch periled
Despite being the model of the modern freighter, Fitzgerald.

In short, in matters nautical, she was by any stretch periled.
It was becoming soggy on the doughty freighter Fitzgerald.

While she was rocked and shocked and socked, the fellow who’s down there with pots
Came up on deck, said, “What the heck, it’s too rough to share the pared pot-
atos and so I must say ‘no’ to feeding you a lunch—tough luck!”
No time to eat while the storm beat; besides, they’d probably upchuck.

Back down he went, the sous-deck gent, there seeking no epiphany,
Because he knew he and the crew in no time would the deep six see.
Though he might wish that he did fish from on the gentle Pinafore,
On the outside, one could not hide that there was a wild din galore.

On the inside, they sighed or cried where hijinks there had been before.

He had a hat puffy and fat—the extent of his uniform;
Like all the rest, not at his best; the crew was blue and too forlorn.
In short, in matters nautical, Fitz was by any stretch periled.
There might be one chance if begun: employ the radio herald.

In short, in matters nautical, Fitz was by any stretch periled,
But no “Mayday” was there relayed from the frayed freighter Fitzgerald.

The Fitz was tossed and chop-embossed; no albatross came amblin’
By like a duck, to curse their luck; sailing that day was gamblin’.
The ship was yawed as if ’twere pawed or whipsawed by a lariat
Around the keel; useless the wheel. . .like a Hur-hurtin’ chariot.

No use to bail, it would just fail, ’cause defunct was the plumbery.
They sat to wait upon their fate. . .dire straits. . .could not much glummer be.
The waves, the chop were all nonstop: nautical assault, battery
Too much to take, apart to break; great lake had become shattery.

Too much to take, apart to break; wayward, wicked winds: tattery.

All the maritimey knowledge, though, couldn’t get them to Whitefish Bay.
Beneath storm skies, in water guys were “swimming” in a slight fish way.
All killed, boat battered, then boat shattered after being imperiled.
Gone down, the very model of the modern freighter, Fitzgerald

All killed, boat battered, then boat shattered after being imperiled.
Her log is on the bottom with a lot o’ chums from Fitzgerald.