214. August 2nd
Streaks of date blue run across,
The water as the wind blows.
Travelling quickly towards the horizon,
Disappearing into the distance.
The sea though often calm
On the surface we see,
Is, beneath this mask,
Hissing and angrily raging.
Contained though this wrath can seem,
It is in fact far from it,
Toppling the unexpectant,
And causing havoc upon the unwary.