I see the clean water push the tiny waves to the beach. I hear the loud rough wind rushing past me. I think the broken driftwood will smash and break on the pointy rocks. I feel cold and shivery in the freezing howling wind.
I really like your poem Denham it makes me think of beautiful Taipa beach. I used to collect a lot of driftwood and shells from beaches and make them into wind chimes. Where do you think driftwood comes from that washes up onto the sea shore?
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I really like your poem Denham it makes me think of beautiful Taipa beach. I used to collect a lot of driftwood and shells from beaches and make them into wind chimes. Where do you think driftwood comes from that washes up onto the sea shore?
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