... ich will raus ...

Six humans trapped by happenstance

in the bleak and bitter cold

each possesed a stick of wood

or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs,

the 1st man held his back

for faces around the fire,

he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way

saw one not of his church

and could not bring himself to give

the fire his stick of birch.

The 3rd man 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 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 not except for gain,

Giving only to those who gave

was how he played the game.

The logs held tight in death's stilled hands

was proof of human sin,

They did not die from the cold without,

they died from the cold within.

 - unknown