I am surrounded by cliffs, but I do not have a glacier. You might find me in New Zealand but also Scandanavia.

A twist, a bend, a darkened skin, Hold the tasty warmth within. A salty crust, to give you thirst, I hail from the land of Wurst. Savory, sweet, whichever you eat, A soft, warm bite that's always a treat.

I'm a path of a constant curve. Distance is the thing I preserve. I'm unnoticed lest you observe.

Cold giant creeping, Grinding rock, pushing grime. Melt water seeping, Lost to climate and time.

I cradle life in my embrace, shaping lands with gentle touch or mighty force, a mirror to the sky above.