The Annie McGuire was a terrible boat.
The God-forsaken thing didn't even float.
After it had a horrible crash
all that was left was a pile of trash.
It crashed near the light on a pile of rocks;
too bad they hadn't built any docks.
It was 1880, the 24th of December,
on a rock there's a painting that lets us remember.
We reverse our direction to stop and stare
at an ancient white lighthouse with a silver glare.
Washington commissioned the tall lighthouse;
it was not to be the size of a mouse.
The lighthouse itself was stately and grand
but when the Annie McGuire wrecked it wasn't manned.
The fulminating waves crash day and night
as the lighthouse above shines its big bright light.
As we look at the clouds of the indistinct sky
we watch the gray seagulls flying by
The crisp air tastes salty, because of the sea,
and the waves make the water frothy.
The frothy foam on the water's edge
results from spray coming over the ledge.
The glistening water is a sight to behold
with the sun making it as beautiful as gold
There are tourists observing every aspect and detail;
there are little kids hanging precariously over the rail.
As you walk along through the brisk cool breeze
you see puddles just beginning to freeze.
If you look way off with a squinty gaze,
you can see the islands in a misty haze.
The tiny islands way off of the shore
if we were farther back we would see no more.
The beauty of the sea awaits all who come;
Its magnificent power is for everyone.

By Mr. Koelker's Grade 7 World Geography Class 

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