Plain text:

Apostle Islands

by George Vukelich

Two billion years ago

the Laurentian Mountains stood here

and soared to altitudes higher

than any of the world’s present peaks.

Before there was man

the great glaciers of the ancient past

moved back and forth across this land

like a man raking out a garden plot.

Long before Alexander wept

for worlds to conquer.

Long before Genghis Khan

swept over Asia.

Long before the pyramids

had been started.

This land was

as it is.

On these rocks

the Chippewa built their fires

and watched for their enemies

on the mainland.

On these rocks, the French

voyageurs rested

repairing their canoes

dreaming of riches

worth a queen’s ransom.

On the rocks, the French

priests and soldiers

signed the treaties

in the name of

their Kings.

Now, they are gone.

Scattered and buried and blown away.

Only the rocks remain.

The rocks.

And the great inland seas.

The early settlers sleep here still.

The French and English and the Chippewa tribe.

The sons of the chiefs remember them all.

There is drum talk in the twentieth century

of the long dead days

and the peopled dreams.

There is a lesson to be learned here

in this land

of the blue heron and the bog lake.

Nature is building in this place

as a man would build a sea wall

a protected place.

Her work is not finished here.

It will not be finished soon.

We will be gone

and our children

will be gone

and the bog lake will remain

a-building.

that is the lesson

To be learned.