Superior, listen to your stolid waves
As they crash upon shores of a Canadian forest,
When they hurl the fierce winds across sandstone cliffs,
When they force a lone boat to teeter like a swing.
The ojibwa dugouts that raced across you
Ran from the clangor of your stentorian thunder,
And this has been written in Indian legends.
Superior, calm your icy tempest
For the delicate birds that migrate overhead;
For the timorous wolves upon the Isle Royale
And for the placid rivers that feed from your trough.
The truth, however, is that you are a spirit
That is filled from the soul with a tremulous power.
Superior, listen to your stolid waves.