And ice below, and above - I toil somewhere in between:
To punch my way up or drill down through.
To rise to the surface and not lose hope.
And there to wait for official stamps.

The ice above me - snaps and cracks.
I am pure and plain, though not from behind a plow.
I’ll return to you like the ships in the song,
Remembering everything, even old verses.

I’ve had less than half a century, some forty plus.
I’m alive, protected twenty years by you and the Lord.
I’ve something to sing about standing before the Almighty,
I’ve something to justify myself before Him.