by Nick Gisburne
We falter in the everlasting snow,
Our dogs too weak to struggle with the sled.
The dangers we endure will only grow.
More problems, painful choices, lie ahead.
The feeding post, deserted, empty, stripped
Of every trace of energy we need,
Was looted in the night by those who shipped
To safety long before the time agreed.
Tomorrow, there are promises to keep.
We have to make the rendezvous, somehow,
But, waking from a minute’s fearful sleep,
We know we need to give the order now.
We force them out, the weak, the slow, the old,
And travel lighter, quicker, in the cold.
