melts into the sea,
arctic ice, now silver stream.
Where creatures dwell no home will be.
From snow’s death knell, we hide, we flee,
while from this blight we retreat, and ourselves tell,
‘It’s them, not me.’ Yet conscience tolls tomorrow’s bell.
To that peal, will we listen, or sit and watch the glaciers glisten?
A chilling sight is the flow of melting ice from long ago. What stays hidden
from our eyes is the overflow of oceans’ rise, and it’s our children who pay the price.
Edited by John Adcox