By Edd B. Jennings
He expected his bones to whiten in the Arctic sun,
Scattered by scavengers and predators:
First, the gulls,
Followed by the fox and the wolf,
Until finally the ravens picked over his remains
On high Arctic ground
Where no man walked,
And no tall tree grew.
Edd B. Jennings runs cattle along the New River in the mountains of Virginia.
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
Brutal, sparse, beautiful language and imagery here, which captures the subject well. I’m interested to know what prompted a New River cattle runner to meditate on the Arctic tundra. Thanks for sharing this poem.
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I’ve spent huge blocks of life wandering alone in the Arctic.
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