The Cold Within

The Cold Within

(Reprinted from Dear Abbey, The Tribune, San Luis Obispo, CA)

Six humans trapped in happenstance

In dark 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 of the faces ‘round the fire,

She noticed one was black.

The next man looking across the way

Saw not one from 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 sight,

For all he saw in his stick of wood

Was a chance to spite the white.

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.

My prayer for this Holiday Season is that all people who follow a faith tradition that emphasizes love and compassion for our neighbor, regardless of who they may be, will be filled with the warmth of that love and compassion for the next year.  Our poor weary world can certainly use a bonfire of love and compassion right about now.