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The Cold Within 

Six humans trapped by happenstance 
In dark and bitter cold 
Each possessed a stick of wood-- 
Or so the story's told. 

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

The next one looked cross the way 
Saw one not of his church, 
And could not 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 wealth he had in store, 
And keeping all that he had earned 
From the lazy, shiftless poor. 

The black man's face bespoke revenge 
As the fire passed from his sight, 
For he saw in his stick of wood 
A chance to spite the white. 

And the last man of this forlorn group 
Did nought except for gain, 
Giving just to those who gave 
Was how he played the game, 

Their sticks held tight in death's stilled hands 
Was proof enough of sin; 
They did not die from cold without-- 
They died from cold within. 

-- James Patrick Kinney 

In looking at Didactic Poetry, I found this one 
that I thought I would share..

It is not written by me but by:James Patrick Kinney..

I feel it is a great work to share in light of what has been happening lately

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