There is a real ship called "The Sea Witch" that sank off of Ossabaw. This is her ghost.
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The ghost ship glides through the marshes as the light from a distant lantern waves back and forth on her stern. It's the eerie glow that sets your eyes as the first mist precedes the fog when the Ghost Ship glides across Ossabaw to the inlet. The small lights seem like tiny fireflies as the muffled voices of men are heard scurrying to hoist her sails. There is no one. Just this great mast from a tall ship stroking the fog and hinting at the ship's torn canvases, her creaking boards and the damp smell of musk. It permeates the mist and surrounds the marshes with her wondrous mystery. It is the voyage of long ago. Perhaps it could be Blackbeard on his way to bury his fortune on St. Catherine’s Island or perhaps Jean Lafitte as he made his way hiding among the barrier islands along the southeastern coast.
There in the mist of Ossabaw the mystery still abounds
Right here in the view of Warsaw...deep in this green tea sound
Just here in these deep waters where shrouds of grays roll in
Where endless creeks and channels wreath with north eastern winds
There lies a pea green inlet where giant oaks weep down
Their silent gray Spanish moss moans to this mystic sound
It comes up on you quickly and shrouds you most complete
It woos your gut instincts and settles round your feet
It is a complete mystery for here the spirits fly
You sense intrusion coming near the masses by and by
Out in the mist where vapors rise and chills come with each breath
She comes out of nowhere...her mast and this great ship
She moves without a whisper and glides on blades of grass
Then enters from the marshes then gently she rolls past
She looms just like her mystery, her masts of oak turned bold
She comes upon a whisper and turns the calm to cold
She looms out of nowhere but from the ages gone
There's no company of strangers or sailors with her bones
She skips the waters freely then steely she glides on
She's manned by ghosts of yesterday this pirate with her bones
Some call her the Ghost Ship...her scars, to this, attest
To battles won in victory upon her canvassed chest
Where did she hail and why has she determined this her home?
Tis a haven for her kin...her pirates and their bones
She is but a sentry left here to guard the stakes
Waiting for her captain and bides till he awakes
She comes in with the fog of dawn then she dissipates
She is loyal to her kin, their honor and their Fate
Ossabaw is gifted for the spirit here
This mystery is a blessing for all who wonder near
It speaks for faith in honor...her lessons give us pride
This Ghost so grand with her charm still sleeps with every tide
Then when's the need to check her lot, she looms through misted veils
Then comes again aloof and proud to hoist anew her sails.
