Gitch the bitch...in a terrible pitch...

By the whim and vim of a French monarch, La Salle would build a sailing barque.

Even though it wasn’t true, he promised just a big canoe. 

For dreams of guerdon, through winter’s burden,

Their bones did ache and stiffen. 

Chafing more than just her rancor, and losing all, but for the anchor,

They kept on trying to build Le Griffon. 

Winter 1679 the lake increased her water line. 

She raised a gale and broke the joint and laid the scow at Three Mile Point. 

In the spring, they tried again, and saboteurs did threaten them. 

Only just escaping fire, the French rebuilt despite that ire. 

In August late, did percolate a wicked tempest for a while. 

A northwest gust reversed its thrust. She nearly scuttled at Presque Isle.

Finally, then, a commercial cruise, Le Griffon started making news. 

But not for long as none remember seeing her hull hence September. 

Where she’s gone, to final rest, no one thusly really knows, 

Except the spirit left transgressed, underwater I suppose.