Tied to a Sledge

We all live like Scott
In sight of the Pole,
A black flag in it.

We are not the first.
Great God, what a hard
Place to reach and find

Not so much as hope
Of a boast in it.
We’re none of us first,

And Earth is the worst—
Great for life, of course,
But death for life’s lives.

In a few weeks, Scott
And those with him
Had died in the ice.

Well, it will be more
Than a few weeks yet
For most of us. Still,

We clutch our good-luck
Gods and charms and hope
Our bones, hides, and clothes

Will speak well for us
To those who lurch past
To glimpse that black flag.