Cold Within, The

By Others

Six humans trapped by happenstance

In black and bitter cold

Each one possessed a stick of wood

Or so the storys told

Their dying fire in need of logs

The first woman held hers back

For of the faces around the fire

She noticed one was black

The next man looking across the way

Saw one not of his church

And couldnt bring himself to give

The fire his stick of birch

The third on 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 mans face bespoke revenge

As the fire passed from sight

For all he saw in his stick of wood

Was a chance to spite the white

And the last man of this forlorn group

Did nought except for gain

Giving only to those who gave

Was how he played the game

The logs held tight in deaths still hands

Was proof of human sin

They didnt die from the cold without

They died from the cold within

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Again I preserve a writing of someone else - Someone sent this to me and I have no memory other than that.

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