WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?
Where can l find my peace of mind
while each is drawing the common quilt
to his side not just for a cover,
but having it, no sense of guilt?

I shiver and beg for a share,
but no one listens to my plea.
I'm dying of the freezing cold,
but all are blind to what they see.

I look at their wide, greedy eyes,
but find them full of spurning pride.
They pride themselves on haughty might,
and look down on my pleading dread.

Am l a gent or just a mouse,
that fears to pull as others do?
I've thrown to hell my gentle ways,
and just to me the quilt l draw.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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