Just leaving some AI generated poetry here, like an unwanted turd on a Cornish beach
On Bude's broad beach, where Atlantic waves
Unfurl and crash, a solitary act
Takes place, unheralded, unseen, unheard
A deposit left, a calling card, compact
The sand, a canvas, takes the shape
Of my endeavour, warm, still steaming late
A monument to nature's urgent call
A splodge of brown, like soil, or autumn's fall
The seagulls wheel, indifferent, above
As I, a fleeting figure, claim my love
For this wild coast, where earthy scent
Mingles with salt, and seaweed's bent
The tide, a cleaner, will erase the sign
Of my brief visit, leaving no design
But for now, my mark, a temporary claim
To this stretch of sand, this North Cornwall fame