The Cold Within
By: Unknown

Six humans trapped by happenstance
and bleak and bitter cold;
each possessed a stick of wood,
or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs,
the first man held his back,
for of the faces round the fire,
he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way
saw one not in his church,
and couldn't bring himself to give
the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes,
she gave her coat a hitch.
Why should her 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 woman's face bespoke revenge
as the fire passed from her sight.
All she saw in her stick of wood
was a chance to spite the white.

The last person of this forlorn group
did naught accept nor gain.
Giving only to those who gave
was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in deaths still hand
was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without,
they died from the cold within.