THE DAY HE DIED

He spied the chimney of the shop that day,
"An easy way to get in, to steal a dress for my wife,
An outfit for the baby and something for me," he thought smiling.
That night he took his clothes and dropped them down the chimney cavity,
Made sure he could slip down.

Inside the chimney, too late, he knew he'd calculated wrong;
He couldn't slip down and couldn't climb.
The wall was tight around his chest, his head was stuck,
His arms close tight against his face, his feet in no other position
But toes, pointing down together.

How can he call for help? How shameful was his deed?
But more than this, his saddened and fearful heart asked:
Am I to die? Is this my tomb?
Somewhere, as in a hurried dream, he heard a terrified scream, "No!"

As the days passed by, he agonized unable to move or to supply his bodily needs.
As his body and spirit deteriorated he thought of Love himself.

Sometime, who knows how long?, someone inside the shop speaks:
"I heard a scratching noise inside the wall some time ago, but it has stopped."