The bitterness is no longer a surprise It is a daily taste to relish Nothing seems to mean that much Those reaching out can’t feel my touch I have slowly immersed myself in grief And loneliness with the crowd Is found to be a small relief.
And yet, I ask myself tonight What right have I to shun my friends For there I’ll find a sense of peace As bitter feelings find release For they may feel such pain as I And hurt inside as much – and feel That awful, awful need to cry.
O God, it is so harsh and very cold But onward and driven, we must go Our journey South so frighteningly bold To reach a Pole where nought will grow,
Rations frozen, now frostbitten fingers Fallen canines reluctantly eaten And feet unfelt where pain just lingers We battle on, we cannot be beaten.
But yet we lost, Amundsen beat us We’ll leave a mark to say we arrived There was no cheer, nor slightest fuss A bitter taste for those deprived.
So few of us remain, a smaller fire will burn Captain Oates stepped out last night, so gallant He said he would just be awhile, but didn’t return Such men have been my comrades, such talent.
Heroes all, this unfortunate company of gallant men Edward Wilson, Edgar Evans, and Henry Bowers Their strength of character I’ve known not when Each one above the norm now towers.
And yet now here, failed, and trying to reach our shore I feel our journey now will end, we are so feeble “It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more R. Scott — for God’s sake, look after our people.”
Sand fell from his feet as he waded ashore The water so cold his teeth still chattered But he’d swum to the buoy as he promised he would And when she kissed his cold lips nothing else mattered. They walked, arms entwined the length of the beach All alone still, as dawn had not yet even broken Their love kept them warm and they both held a smile And down the length of the beach not many words were spoken. And in the small private cove at the farthest point along They abandoned all pretence of calm cool fashion Literally leaping into each other’s waiting arms They made love on the beach and unleashed their passion. O how they laugh when they think of that time And the fact that they nearly got caught But they still love each other as strong as they did And that sort of passion can never be bought.
Gently, very gently She held the child in her arms She was a mother, a protector And would shield her from all of life’s harms. Or at least that’s what the lady thought As she leaned down to coo and smile As she breathed her nicotine breath on her And passed germs to her baby so vile. The child at four got cancer At six she’s no longer here Yet the mother still smokes in her sorrow For those who won’t listen never hear.