Past the breakers where the beacon shines

from the light house near the shore,

some can hear the sounds of the long, lost souls

who have gone this way before.

 

Many a seasoned sailor used to lose his grip

on the sturdy balustrade,

when the raging sea claimed its cruel bounty

on its howling escapade.

 

Though scuttlebutt flew, nary a sailor knew

what the sea would have in store.

No one could persuade them to change their way,

now they’re lost forevermore.

 

Still more made their way past the perilous bay,

unaware of the danger ahead,

and when the sun rose high in the November sky

every mariner was dead.

 

Past the breakers where the beacon shines

from the light house near the shore,

some can hear the sounds of the long, lost souls

who have gone this way before,

 

who have gone this way before…

 

©  Susan  J

Written about the many ships lost in the Great Lakes