Without further ado, here is Sarah (Clemens) Flynn's poem about Indian Lake, which she probably wrote after one of many visits to see her daughter Cora (Flynn) Lemon at Lemon Park.
As I sat on the shores of fair Indian Lake
On a beautiful Sabbath day,
As the waves washed up on the sands at my feet,
Methinks I could hear them all say,
“'Tis thus for ages we have rolled on this shore
Sometimes as peaceful as now,
But when the Storm King in his fury doth rage
In high-capped splendor we bow.
“Once the red man rowed here in his birch bark canoe
As free as the bird of the air;
And the thick woods rang with their shouts and their songs
While chasing wild beasts to their lair.
They have left us their names. Alas! That is all;
For they have been driven from home.
The white man has come with his civilized ways
And caused the poor Indian to roam.
“The trees have been thinned, now a beautiful grove
Surrounds our waters so clear.
In place of the wigwams of our old Indian braves
The home of the white man is here.
Each year new cottages appear on our shore
And boats take the place of canoe
The fame of our fish have gone far and wide,
Yes, farther than Kalamazoo.
“Now it is called a resort, by name of Lemon Park,
And all through each long summer day
The campers or parties for pleasure will come
Each happy in his or her way.
No changes we make, now, as in ages past
The very same welcome we make
To those who delight to see the waves splash
On the shores of our beautiful lake.”