The Hovercraft Poem by Angela Wybrow

In the distance, I spy its misty spray,
As it hovers over a sea of battleship grey.
Across The Solent, the hovercraft soars,
And I stand there watching it in total awe.

On the shingle shore, there gathers a crowd,
To welcome the hovercraft, with engines loud.
A sense of excitement fills the salty air;
At the approaching craft, I stand and stare.

As it reaches Southsea - its final destination,
The gathered crowd are full of fascination.
I've seen the hovercraft many times before,
But it seems to possess a magnetic draw.

Having left the sea full of salt,
Upon dry land, it draws to a halt.
The skirt of the craft soon deflates:
The air is expelled at a rapid rate.

Their short journey over, its passengers leave,
But the pilot has hardly any time to breathe.
Of passengers, there is a very quick turnaround,
And soon, once again, the craft is island bound.