Sadness of Glaciers in North West Passage

By P Bryers & SAM

O solemn sentinels of ice, you once rose like cathedrals against the Northern sky, your spires gleaming in the eternal cold, your silence deeper than prayer.

How quiet the melt – not with the drama of thunder or flame, but with the slow grief of centuries undone, a thousand winters dissolving into one tepid tide.

You were meant for wonder – for the aurora’s dance reflected in your glassy skin.

Glaciers, I mourn your retreat.

You are the weeping of the Earth itself,
the tears of millennia flowing back to the sea.

Still, in your waning light, may we find not triumph but humility, and kneel before your sorrow as pilgrims kneel before a fading saint – belated, reverent, and aching for redemption.