The Memory in Stone

Oh, mourn the old seaway, that no boat did know,
Where no marine creature may anymore go.

All ken of that time is what’s written in stone,
As terrestrial life now calls that space home.

Down through the valley, the rivers now flow,
A history writ down so achingly slow.

Those hills, they were built with such painstaking care -
A lifetime of silt; that is nothing up there.

This landscape is new; the rocks, they are old,
A memory of times when things weren’t so cold.

But still, that old seaway we may see again,
For icecaps are melting - we all know what then.