The Arctic
The Arctic, barren, bleak and cold, before the eve of Man,
With creatures cast in nature’s mold, the same since time began.
The polar bear and wary fox, the walrus and the seal below,
The nesting birds among the rocks, the northern lights aglow.
The native folk in hide and fur, with homes of snow and ice,
Receive each season and endure, prepared to pay the price.
They live with hardship we could not, they fear not man or beast,
They’ve known no other way except, the famine or the feast.
We came to search beneath their land, for oil far below,
The tundra pierced by drillers rig, where moss and lichen grow.
Now if we in our quest care not, the way that some have done,
We may pollute and desecrate, this land of the midnight sun.
Because if pipes and tankers leak, what’s garnered by the drill,
And foul the beaches, birds and seas, with viscous oil spill.
We soon could see the dread result, of someone’s careless act,
Now this is not a scare alarm, but just the plain hard facts.
So let us take the care we should, while still we have the time,
Protect our frail ecology, from devastating grime.
Let’s take not too destructively, the black and flowing gold,
Or we will reap the Arctic, dead, and barren, bleak and cold.
Ken Thompson,
Kelowna
