The legend has lived many nights
And days through history.
The name, a Chippewa bequest,
Is this: Gitche Gumee.

(The term’s origin: Ojibwe;
Its meaning is “Big water.”
Its spelling is Gitchigami
To Longfellow, Gitche Gumee
In “Song of Hiawatha.”)

And the craft-rout wind still blew behind
On this huge earthen hollow.
And what they say, onto this day,
Forthwith shall quickly follow.

GG can be a hellish thing,
Causing no dearth of woe.
As you have heard, it is averred
That when the cold winds blow
’tis better on dry earth to stay
Then lake-bound off to go.

For it is said, alas, the dead
Are not given up by this
Lake, thus the word: best be deterred
When November winds hiss—
It might well mean a freighter fray;
Themselves off they might kiss.

A scare breeze blew, the white foam flew
On big Gitche Gumee.
They had best first think of the curse
Of Wiccan thievery.

I mean not like robbers in town
Bent on a stealing spree,
With things to take, the law to shake. . .
In hope of keeping free.

Those whom the coppers then would try
To stop and do it soon
To keep audacious sleight of hand
From augmenting crook boon.

Nay after nay is what I say—
I speak of the commotion
Arising from that baleful witch
Who shan’t aid bailing motion.

Water, water everywhere;
This galling whore not shrinks
From her awful job; beware—
In store for all: the drink.

The witch is not a sheep of Christ,
Flying so flippantly,
And slimy things puts in her keg
That boils insistently

With a dog snout—newt eye, no doubt—
She danceth ’round at night.
Lake water this witch maketh boil,
Then, swift, swoopeth from sight.

Fast in she stealeth, so assured,
No, these Wiccans play it not slow.
In fathoms deep she will start a gust
That transfigures to a blow.

Her work is done; the water spouts
Then slithers in, to boot.
She seeketh to sink ship and skiff;
She doth not go for loot.

From far away, her evil looks
On many boats have sprung.
When she getteth cross, there may be loss
Of a crew, old and young.