bitter cold

It's cold out here... alone among the snowflakes whizzing by. I've been so busy helping firewood for friends and neighbors, I forgot to get some for myself. It's too late now, I'm either left out in this harsh weather or bouncing between cynical houses getting morcels of warmth that I more than deserve. Now, I realize my chilling flaw: I haven't been selfish enough.

Somehow, I thought helping others was better than helping myself. Maybe the village would realize my kindness and gratitude and suprise me with something great? There is nothing. I'm left with the pleasant thought of having done the right thing while ice begins to envelope my fingers. Could this be better than the cold, bitter reception cloaked in gratitude if I ask for help?

The next day, I ignore the sincere inquiries for help from those that apparently appreciate me and gather plenty of firewood for myself. In that fire, my rare and reassuring benevolence burn away. Alone, in the hut, I watch the flames without regret.

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise
-William Blake