My Poetry. A Warming World.

The ice once whispered to the sea,
A tale of stillness, wild and free.
Now glaciers weep their ancient song,
For what we’ve done, for staying wrong.

The forests burn with silent cries,
As smoke replaces open skies.
The creatures flee, the oceans rise—
Yet still we turn away our eyes.

The summer stretches, long and dry,
While rivers shrink and pastures die.
The winds grow fierce with bitter flame,
And seasons never feel the same.

But in the dark, a seed remains,
Of hope that rises through the stains.
If hands can harm, they too can heal—
A truth we now must choose to feel.

So let us turn with clearer sight,
And trade regret for mindful light.
For Earth, our home, still dares to be
A place of peace, if we agree.

© William Sinclair Manson 2025