School holidays July 1995…convinced mum an dad to drop a 15 yo me off on my pre planned winter gold mining excursion to naseby camp ground…-18 at the camp -21.6 at Ophir…chipped through over an inch thick of frozen gravels to pan a few flakes of gold for Mr Hores wee goldminers statue at the ancient briton in exchange for a jug of beer…tried to impress some lasses at the ice skating rink an fell hit my head…nobody noticed. Good or bad…but landed on my arm. Could not see for half an hour but felt my way to get my boots off wuthmy one good arm…felt crook the next day so stayed in the cabin…could not do any more frozen gold panning and the girls knocking on my cabin door to see if I was OK…I said I am alright but don’t want to go ice skating…went for an arduous 6 hour walk in thigh deep snow around Hogburn gully…when I got back my boots were worn to leather and I couldn’t sleep all I saw was blue through my watering eyes. When dad picked me up…I said…I think I need to get checked out at the hospital b4 we see mum.
concussion, fractured arm an snow blindness…loved it! The toilet bowl cracked…boots frozen to the carpet. Left dishes in the sink and had to boil water to get them out.
Not to mention defrost the logs b4 I put them on the fire. I was the only camper that year apart from an elder lady Cunningham? Who gave birth to her daughters next to my mum at queen Mary
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What part of that was a poem? That cold snap must have been the time the hens at a farmers place I know in Ophir woke up frozen to death sitting on their perches. True story & that wasn’t a poem either. 
Les Styles could have made a poem out of your story. But I doubt he is with us any more.
JW 
Des Styles… … …
Have you not meet or heard of Des Styles?
JW