Before Lake Morris was a lake
Eunice married Orten.
After a year a daughter was born,
Nocomus, from the families’ Cherokee side.
They built the earthen dam
To make the lake for water and farm land.
The fish arrived and Orten loved to fish.
He built a boat to fish from.
Eunice and Nocomus went along.
One day while fishing the weather turned.
The lake grew rough. The little boat swamped.
Eunice took Nocomus and began to swim for shore.
Orten swam behind. Eunice needed help.
The wind blow harder. Eunice tired.
Nocomus slipped away and drowned.
No one found her body.
Swoozy in the weedy water,
Nocomus can be seen sometimes.
Her little head above the waves
Looking every bit like a swimming duck.
Sometimes someone comes along,
Someone who understands such things
As ladies in the lake no matter where.
He takes his pocket knife and opens it.
He throws his pocket knife into the lake.
And if the light slants toward the sun just so
He just might swear a little hand appears
To catch the pocket knife mid-air
And pull it down beneath the surface,
The silver blade like fire against the setting sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem