Bitter cold cuts to the bone
Upon frozen tundra with ice like stone
A deep blue sky looks down on me
Spirits warm my heart to set me free
Alone in my thoughts covered in white
Absent birds who’ve taken seasonal flight

Majestic mountains rise to the heavens
Towards uncharted heights seven times seven
Whitecaps approach in sets of three
Surf pounds jagged rocks with nary a plea
A lifeless land rises as a testament to God
Created to enchant my journey on the Iditarod

Beside me my trusted huskies and sled
A fortnight of provisions including tea and bread
Dogs now asleep under a canopy of light
My lips frozen between tasteless bites
A thousand miles from civilization
I stare in disbelief without sensation

Across frozen rivers and windswept valleys
I approach Blueberry Point three hundred miles from the rally
Whiteouts the enemy of many a musher
Snowdrifts that entomb, also known as crushers
Heading north through the black spruce with only a prayer
This last epic race entices only those souls who dare