It would only be repetition
To chronicle the doings from day to day
The sastrugi alters in direction
Below was a magnificent panorama of clouds
Tongue and pencil would sadly fail
In attempting to describe the magic
Of the coloring in the days
When the sun was leaving us
The snow blew into the faces and formed masks of ice
Do you have some soul?
From the bottom of the hull
Reached bottom barrel
Charged first light
Formidable nightingale
Sun blazing
So thin bones ache
We lie in the snow
We are dying and we know it