We found this poem on the RSCJ Community Website a few years ago, and found it to be very poignant and touching, and felt we would like to share it with you. Should any of you feel like visiting the nuns website, you will find their link in "Some of our favourite sites" This particular link will take you to their site in the States, but once there you can also find affliate sites from around the world. We hope that you find this piece as meaningful as we did. |
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Six humans trapped by happenstance In harsh 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 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 the lazy 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. And 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. |
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