For every purpose, there is life: this is the Northern Point
In every Circus, what is right, the meaty thinking joint
But who’d have thought that John O’Groats served any greater plan
Than Marking out the Mainland, the Northmost point for Celtic Man.
The North Star here will guide us in our quest for education
A solar car and compass: we are guests of trepidation
Unsure of what our life should mean, unsure where we should go
To be at one with hope and fear and feel our Universal flow.
So small this shore, Duncansby Head, no place to launch your boats
The call of oar, the future read, or settle John o’ Groats.
The windswept, windy shores of time where forecasts often changed
With heather smells and ocean wells to wish life re-arranged.
To glance to East at Sunrise or to Western Sunset
To lance the grave where none rise to assist our British Best
Yet looking out and forth and free it’s what we’ve always known
When searching the horizons, friends, we’re never on our own.