Counter Surfers Unlimited
The Cold Within
Six humans trapped by happenstanceIn black and bitter cold
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs
The first woman held hers back
For the faces around the fire
She noticed that one of them was black.
The next man looking cross the way
Saw not one of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give
The first his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put tu 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 his 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 naught 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 didn't die from the cold without
They died from the cold within.
- Author Unknown -
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