I’ve
left my mates, dying, on tundra tracks
Opening
the small tins of potted meat
Discover
just sawdust inside to eat
I
sledged, exhausted, past the icy cracks
Whether
cold, scurvy, or evil attacks
Dragging
myself, my tent, my stove for heat
Despair.
I stagger on, with frozen feet
I
dream my mates are dead, piled in stacks
Arctic
summer flowers, it lasts a night
I
press on, snow blind, wind howls, black toes
I
press on, voices sing, strip off my clothes
Arctic
winter sullen, it ends a life
Perhaps,
they’ll find my smiling corpse one day
Perhaps,
they’ll leave a marker where I lay.
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