Carved through endless millenia

Hanging valleys and finger lakes,

Kettle holes, eskers and drumlins

Are what the moving glacier makes

 

Plucking, shearing rocks from their beds

Grinding stone channels with debris

Its hard to believe such power is dying

But what can I do, what can we?

 

Vibrant and dynamic these dinosaurs

Lower limbs plastic and flowing

But melting and evaporation will cease

When dry skies are no longer snowing

 

Plucking, shearing rocks from their beds

Grinding stone channels with debris

Its hard to believe such power is dying

But what can I do, what can we?

 

I dont care what loggers and petrol-heads say

There's beauty in truncated spurs and boulder clay

 

Plucking, shearing rocks from their beds

Grinding stone channels with debris

Its hard to believe that such power is dying

But what can I do, what can we?