The Cold Within
I borrowed this from a post on
NCTE-Talk.
"I've used the following poem with TKAM
and many other works. I received the
poem at a Teacher Cadet conference and
understand that it was written by a
seventeen-year-old (from Indiana, I
believe. I'm afraid that I don't have
any more info on the author.)"
The Cold Within
Six humans trapped by
happenstance
In bleak 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 man held his back
For on the faces around the fire
He noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the
way
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't 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 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.
