Thanks for sharing.  Cindy C.

On Mon, 25 Oct 1999 11:39:17 -0400 Trisha Cummings <[log in to unmask]>
writes:
>
> Greetings
>
>     Here is a sad but true poem about people.
>
>                              Brightest Blessings
>                                  Trisha
>
> ~~The Fire~
>
> Six People Trapped By Happenstance
> In Damp And Bitter Cold,
> Each One Possessed A Stick Of Wood
> Or So The Storie's Told.
>
> Their Dying Fire..In Need Of Logs
> The First Woman Held Hers Back,
> For On The Faces Around The Fire
> She 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 Going To The Poor.
>
> The Black Man's Face Only Spoke Revenge,
> As The Fire Passed From His Site.
> 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 The Ones That Gave,
> Was How He Played The Game.
>
> The Logs Held Tight In Death Still Hands,
> Was Proof Of Human Sin.
> They Didn't Die From The Cold Outside,
> They Died From The Cold Within.