An explosion of sound greeted me as I viewed the harbour walls at Bude,
From vantage high and safety second,I let the waves penetrate my heart.
As mist shrouded that day,invisibility stamped its presence,
Only I knew the Atlantic was angry,maybe angry that anyone was there.
So,it talked to me,taunted me to come closer,”go on boy”, but. Wasn’t fooled,
A lifetime of watching has made me cynical of its power you see,and I never turn my back.
Out to see,fresh breakers start to build,like walls of concrete,reinforced from the Americas,
They contain the spirit of Poseidon ,the mermaid’s potion ,the passion of Christ,the self denial of Theresa,
But,it never denies itself the last wave,the last crash into the harbour walls,that energy,that noise,that roar.
So,that afternoon mist round Bude harbour,that unBudafull ,that unbirthday day in wonderland,
It never said it was Budafull,it never did,you see,it just is what it is,the Atlantic.