The Cold Within

Six humans trapped by happenstance in the 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 of the faces around the fire, he noticed one was black. The next man looking across the fire saw one not of his church and couldn't force 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 sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store and how to keep what he had earned, from the lazy, shifless 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 play his game. Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin they didn't die from the cold without, they died from the cold within.