At the Window

This poem flowed off my pen as I sought the Lord to give me a heart for the lost:

My face is pressed up against the windowpane,
Breath fogging the glass.
It is cold outside and I am shivering.
Through the window I can see a
Fire blazing bright and warm.

People are sitting around the fire
Laughing in the glowing warmth.
They do not see me nor do they
Hear me knocking on the frigid glass
Begging them to let me in.

An icy chill blows over me as the
Temperature continues to decrease.
My tears turn into ice before they can
Even begin to roll down my cheeks.
I pound harder, but no one hears me.

I cry out to those basking in the heat,
“All I want is a chance to sit by the fire!
Can’t you turn around for just a moment?”
They laugh, not hearing me.
Finally, someone turns around.

“What are you doing outside?” she asks me.
“Don’t you know that it is freezing?”
She turns back to the warmth of the fire
But makes no move to open the door
Leaving me still in the cold by the window.