Ice and snow, lay before them,
In rags, a dirty band.
In front was the man, the tall one,
Wooden spear in hand.

Blood was seen, red on whire,
Where he had gone.
Next, came one with hammer,
Crude axe of stone.

Blood, blood could be seen,
Where feet had fallen,
Hunger, relentless hunger walked,
No game to be seen.

Last, came one with a metal can,
Filled with precious, - gas.
Where is the tank? It was here,
Yes, here in the pass!

Jerome Brooke