Ware the Shores of Gitche Gumee

Cerian Cantwr

There's a certain metric meter
From whose stanzas best be fleeing.
'Ware the shores of Gitche Gumee's
Ill effects on your well being.

Once you sound like Hiawatha
You will be hard pressed to stop it.
It invades you inner thinking
There is no defense to block it.

You can scream and shout and holler
You can screech and you can bellow
But you can not kill the cadence
Of that bastard named Longfellow.

When the trochees march in foursomes
You had best be rather cautious,
For their stomach churning rhythm
Is inclined to make one nauseous.

Oh that pounding, lurching, scansion
Is inimical to thinking.
It's a jangling, jinking, journey
That will drive you soon to drinking.

For the numbness of the bottle
Holds the only source of quiet
That will still the motion sickness
And prevent your stomach's riot.

This page maintained by Cerian Cantwr, cerian@minstrel.com.