Waving to Lake Michigan,
The dunes,
Piling years of sand
And earth
And history,
Mark the port of entry
For the Irish and German
Wanderers
Stepping into a place
They’ll give to their kids
And their kids’ kids
And their heirs who share
The same love for pilsner
So strong that
They’ll breed 3 sheep
Just to tap the keg.

Those dunes split just enough
To give them enough passage
To settle this lakefront land
Not far from their boats.