Here the land narrows
and curves
to a tenuous line
of sand and
sparse marram grass
scarce noticed in the
misty distances
of estuary and open sea
save for those tall
proud sentinels,
the lighthouses, whose lights
no longer shine
across the waves
to light the night
for passing ships;
yet still they stand,
as seamarks now,
above the windswept dunes
of lonesome,
sea-girt, almost-island
Spurn.
Pete Crowther
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spurn-point/
