The first works of american literature were written by

waves come crashing to grey sullen shores.

powerful and strong, it breathes and roars.

cascading and caressing each grain of sand,

a warm embrace between sea and land.

high above, a seagull soars high.

wings of purity it spreads to fly.

battling high against darkened cloud,

in a wind that blows fiercely, flying graceful and proud.

beneath, the sand is soft and warm.

sculpted by nature, it's weathered the storm.

a passionate battle between calmness and rage,

a new chapter's beginning; don't turn the last page.

i listen again to the whispering waves,

music of nature calming and brave.

its power unknown, its stillness untamed,

mysterious and magical, a treasure earth claims.

plz mark brainliest

explanation:

i dont kmow it? !