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