• Beaver [he/him]
    ·
    1 year ago

    The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

    Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee

    The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead

    When the skies of November turn gloomy

    With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more

    Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty

    That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed

    When the gales of November came early