The Last March, Part 4

The Scott Expedition at Admunsen's flag on the South Pole.

Intermezzo

Day after monstrous day passes,
As the fur-hooded explorers
Advance
Across mile after endless mile
In dauntless search.

Their sledges dryly crunch
Into the hard-packed snow
Of the crusted plain;
Leaving sets of linear prints
As lone monument to their progress.
Gloved hands rise to wind-burnt brow
As they face into the raw gusts
With eyes searching
To discern signs
Of their success.
Extreme hardship,
The hurdle of human exploration,
Is increasingly felt,
Tinged with apprehension
That there may be
No end.

Until,
It appears,
On the crest
Of the horizon:
The warm red and cool blue
Fluttering
Of Amundsen’s flag.

As they approach,
A tent,
The sign of human habitation,
Appears before them,
Its flaps gently waving
In the manipulating breeze.

The disembarked explorers stand
Before the Norwegian flag:
Its red and blue crosses
Seem to symbolize
A crusader’s march,
And a crusader’s victory.

And yet,
The crusader has departed.

Around the pole,
A white bleakness
Everywhere prevails.
And a cold, raw feeling:
That the captors
Are the captured,
Contains the scene,
Like an atmosphere
Of pure white,
Tufted silk.