The Bleak & Bitter Cold
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 of the faces round 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.
The last man of this forlorn group
Did nought except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
Their 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.
-- James Kinney; The Cold Within.
This was my late friend Rubin's favorite poem. I watched him recite it twice, at Colgate and Binghamton Universities. After he introduced my daughters & I to the audience in Binghamton, a professor there asked me if I could get Rubin to donate a chapter to her book. His contribution was on the Power of Forgiveness. A person asked me about Rubin today, and got me thinking about old times.
= new reply since forum marked as read
That is amazing. Thank you. 
It's hard to argue with that sentiment---
but why is entirely up to us 'godless liberals' now ??
It's a perfect message for today and one that will never expire. ❤️
Just wow 
