Led by Ronald Amundsen

The wall is white - our frozen exhausted breath.

We wrap in animal fur.The endless bitterness

Digs deep into our bones

Glassy sheets of bright ice. 

Our mood is flat, but with a purpose -

On to the South Pole. 

Everything we drag is the weight of our supplies 

Ten fold to the snowdrift. 

Blue lips and crystallised eyelashes. 

Dagger-sharp piercing of blinding eye pain. 

We walk, for no place to hide or seek

We pale the inevitable at Death’s Door;

A pillow of rest, The howl screams as we sleep. 

New birth shadows our day

We draw a judgement on a line - Every step is our last. 

Hold tight! We forge a fearless tunnel;

Steel to The Lord. A bitter taste of madness. 

Communication is useless. 

Race to the horizon. 

The mosaic chapter of the adventures of 1911. 

An unforgivable landscape Of the endless sea base. 

Dream; first ticket of the four

Only the courageous seek. 

Beautiful pixies light the sky. Pencil to the notebook 

A never-ending storm; The wind is fierce. 

Nature’s rules are cruel.

No gold demands a finish.

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