Lake Erie

The color of the sea— Is it blue, or is it green? How can I write of seas That I have never seen, Or picture them in storms When I never saw them rage, Except in waves of black and white Across some printed page.

Now, if you wished to hear about Lake Erie, when the sun Smiles brightly down upon the waves That gaily leap and run; Then I could tell of liquid blues That melted into grays; Of lovely jades in many shades Adorned with silver sprays; Of foaming billows trailing in Our little vessel’s wake; Of golden highways leading to The sun across the lake.

And I could tell of storms that swept Across the golden path, And smote the dimples from the lake With swift, unsmiling wrath; Of vessels broken on the beach, And men who called in vain For mercy from the God of waves,— The God of winds and rain.