Post by desertdweller on Apr 7, 2007 16:03:45 GMT -5
Oh Baz, No worries there, I understand completely.
This is a poem my Mom wanted me to share.
Hey Jamie,
This poem was given to me by a friend in Washington, DC. A civil rights attorney there. It had such an impact on me, I have used it often in presentations on diversity.
It's called "The Cold Within"
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
Thr 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 shiftless, poor.
The Black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passes 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 to 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.
This pretty much describes why we should not tolerate discrimination for any reason. These people are real, and they are out there. All we can hope is that we can help people not become one of them.
I'm glad I feel the way I do and I am proud and happy that you and Mike are like me.. I must have done something right.
Love, Mom
This is a poem my Mom wanted me to share.
Hey Jamie,
This poem was given to me by a friend in Washington, DC. A civil rights attorney there. It had such an impact on me, I have used it often in presentations on diversity.
It's called "The Cold Within"
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
Thr 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 shiftless, poor.
The Black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passes 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 to 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.
This pretty much describes why we should not tolerate discrimination for any reason. These people are real, and they are out there. All we can hope is that we can help people not become one of them.
I'm glad I feel the way I do and I am proud and happy that you and Mike are like me.. I must have done something right.
Love, Mom