A poem written after a frightening experience on holiday in Cornwall. I was 11.
The Waves at Widemouth Bay
Some are small,
Some are big.
I like the big ones best.
I saw a big one coming,
I saw its froming crest.
Its force was strong, its aim was true.
“My aim,” it said, “is you.”
And with a frown the wave came down,
I was so scared I thought I’d drown.
But thankfully, I didn’t.