The Provisioner, under a deadline,
Drip-sealed three years worth of tinned goods with lead.
The ships left with 129
Men who would, in less than two years, be dead.
The mythical northwest passage, if found,
Would make Sir Captain Franklin the greatest
Explorer of his age. He was ice bound
For a year and died, laid to frozen rest.
100 men, Erebus and Terror,
Walked to find the Canadian mainland,
Tracked down by the relentless polar bear.
How long before death was each man unmanned,
Turning his eyes toward some other’s food
Or flesh, in a world no less bad than good?
My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:
