White Wilderness
John Vanderslice
The sky was growing pale
So we held on to the twisted trail
The ground was getting cold
It was too far out to turn around and go home
The moon rose dim above
It was impossible to tell what time it was
The snow fell, lightly at first
It dusted the path, it frosted your hair
The snow fell, I stumbled you laughed
We hoped and we hoped the snow wouldn't last
The light was sure to fail
And our hold on that twisted trail
For we were unprepared
Our path had slowly disappeared
