Across the stream that flows through glacial places
by Phil Soar
The scene is one of pure white ice and distance
And though the melt is underway, the calving stirs the faces
Of all the wildlife struggling with existence
Might years wipe out these scenes and call time on them?
Will all the frozen water turn to sea?
Will everything just slip away and flow back where it came from?
Never to be seen by you or me