Iho the Crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Lake Superior, Gitche Gumee
November winds, fear starts boiling.
The ship creaks, groans, twists, water spumy;
Thoughts of loved ones waiting on shore pushed aside.
Evil eye of the storm is coiling
And springs to release twenty-nine souls into the debris.
The church bell twenty-nine times is tolling.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
