The silver glaciers glisten, the snowdrifts sparkle, gleam
The massive tracks of mammoths bombard the icy plain
Hunters with their Clacton spears flow over the ice
Life demands to barter and it asks the steepest price

The bloody-coughing children lay silent in their sleep
All know, on the glacier it is death to stop and weep
The ice may seem as certain as the distant dream of death,
but glaciers become vapor we inhale with every breath

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