Antarctic Odds
The man I love . . . I carry weight along
Horizons for his heart. The burdens are
Not heavy and they are. A book with song,
And song, and song I clutch to me as far
As strides will go. The songs and book stretch out
As if through snow, and snow, and snow—and reach
Past rock and ice crevasses. Now the route
Is hard with threat. Long love alone can teach
Coordinates or is the compass pure
When even stars are blotted out. Those lines
Inside on pages held hold hard a cure
As ever will be filled with dark night signs.
..I take the book and poetry across
….The wastes. My trip will not replace God’s loss.