Poem by Pamela Benham
The polar caps of north and south
Have frozen wastes so deep, that nought,
Can there survive, lest all about,
Their lives at risk, if rules they flout.
The seasons change, as other lands,
A different clime, with sun and sand,
High rocky craggs, the distant scene,
Or stony shores of shallow screan.
Wildlife struggle to exist,
Yet their survival there amidst,
Seems somehow guaranteed,
If all pollution freed.
Sleek seagulls on the wing can dive,
To depths below the heaving tide,
Where creatures great and small, abide,
Get flung back on the foaming tide.
To cope with frost bite, freezing cold there,
To stay alive, man must be aware,
Of fragile fragments everywhere, then some,
Will to the surface, unexpected, then some,
The icebergs that aloft will flow,
The freezing seas, above, below,
Without care, could lose man without trace,
Upon the face of this enormous, barren, space,
To be his sad end, his resting place...
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