My friend Marilyn wants to run out to Whitefish Point, MI. again, for their annual Edmund Fitzgerald bell-ringing ceremony on November 10, 2014. Im hoping I can read the poem I wrote about the Fitz and the Arthur M. Anderson, as they struggled to reach Whitefish Bay in 1975. Ill call them tomorrow and offer my poem, fingers crossed. White Witch I remember reading the stories, As if it were yesterday, When two ships were caught on the waters, Seeking shelter in Whitefish Bay, In her cold deep caldron, the White Witch, Was slowly stirring her pot, Her hands holding firm to her stirring stick, She watched as the two ships fought, They fought through a sea of towering waves, Climbing forty feet high, or more, The howling of the winds she made, Could be heard from shore to shore, The Mighty Fitz was leading the way, As the waves crashed over her deck, The Arthur M. Anderson following, Both praying that they would not wreck, But the White Witch had shown no mercy, To one of the ships in her brew, With one final whisk of her stirring stick, She took down the old Fitz and her crew, It is said that the twenty-nine sailors, Came to rest in a watery grave, And the Anderson made it to safety, When they knew there was no one to save, In the years that have passed since her sinking, I often think back to that day, When the Witch of November came calling, And took twenty-nine sailors away
Posted on: Wed, 06 Aug 2014 23:50:55 +0000