We saw the months of wicked weather,
As day to painful night did turn,
Waiting, huddled close together
For the frozen sun’s return.
Our nights were almost endless torture.
Our food was gone. Our fuel was low.
We came in search of grand adventure
But ended trembling in the snow.
Each morning’s effort took us southward,
Like moths to flames we sought our goal.
We knew not that far out ahead
Amundsen had reached the Pole.
We found his flag one bitter morning
And knew our hopes had come to woe.
We had come pursuing glory
But ended freezing in the snow.
Hour by hour our strength has left us
But we’ve struggled on for days.
With nothing more than will to guide us
We have tried to reach our base.
The nights are cruel, the wind is heartless,
With its ceaseless whip and moan.
We gave our all; we fought our hardest
But ended dying in the snow.
Trembling, freezing, dying "in the snow."
Isn't the author emphasizing the deadliness and pervasiveness of the snow?
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