Three clergymen from Michigan, adventure sought one spring
They probed their maps of Canada, portaging was their thing

A stream they spied (maps called it one), they learned to call it more
Its source God hid, its mouth ran out along Superior’s shore

To ease their load as Black Robes did, a Brother came along
When Widgeon Lake the Cessna skimmed, sixth sense said something’s wrong

Then the bush plane flew for the second crew, while the first trudged on to the stream
They took one look at that babbling brook and knew maps ain’t what they seem