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