Human feet have trampled this land
down to bare, uneven stone
the colour of ageing bone.
Rocks jut out into choppy sea:
a jagged brownness bathed in sun,
rising steeply from deepest blue.
Seagulls fight over crumbs
the tourists drop, their constant laughter
mocking the folly of mankind
who'll part with a small fortune
just to prove they've been here:
to stand beneath the sign
and have their likeness captured,
then buy mug, tea towel or postcard
to commemorate this day forever;
along with stories they'll tell back home
in native tongue, while fingering their treasures -
matching each with a memory
of Land's End that day, at 11a.m.