"The Cold Within"

Six people trapped by
happenstance In dark and bitter cold -
Each one possessed a stick ofwood,
Or so the story's told.\



Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back
For of the faces around the flame
She noticed one was black.




The second man looked all about,
Saw no one of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.




The rich man sat and thought
Of all the wealth he had in store.
Why should his stick be used to warm
The lazy, shiftless poor?




The poor man sat in tattered clothes,
And gave his coat a hitch.
No way would he let his stick be used
By the greedy selfish rich.




The dark man, bitter and full of rage
Held his oak branch tight
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.




The last man of the forlorn group
Did nothing except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.




The branches held in fate's cruel hands
Were proof of human sin...
They didn't die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.

- Author Unknown