Waves

Three by three in a metronome roar Forming then crashing they race to the shore They begin with a swell then peak to a curve Of white crested wonder as shore bound they surge.  The crest although white like the mane of a lion Forms a beautiful dangerous alluring design Majestic mysterious no two the same They crash with a roar then become oh so tame In a cauldron of sparkling bubbling riches A playground for children not three evil witches No omens or potions or foreboding spells Just pebbles and sea glass   and varied sea shells.