The Cold Within

Six humans trapped in happenstance
In Dark and Bitter cold
Each one pocessed a stick of wood
Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs.
The first woman holds hers back
For of the faces around the fire
She noticed one was black.
The next man looking across the way
Saw not one of his church
and coudln't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes
He gave his coat a hitch
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich.
The rich man just sat back and thought
of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy shiftless poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from sight
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was the chance to spite the white.
The last man of this forlorn group
Did not except for gain
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They did not die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.


Source(s)
Author Unknown

Received this in a letter from my Mom.
Oklahoma
04282006





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