One day in my travels, I met a tree,
Tall as the sky and wide as can be.
He was sitting lonely in his run down home,
His friends were cut down; he was alone.


"I'll be your friend," I said to this tree;
He reached out a limb and said "hi" to me.
So me and this tree, we became friends;
I planted new trees, whom he would defend.


Thus the acquaintance I made was surrounded by trees,
When it came time to move and I had to leave;
I was sure by this time, the day that I moved,
That he'd be fine and things would go smooth.


That was the last time I saw my friend the tree,
And what happened next, I could not believe.
I can not describe with this quaint metaphor,
Because this event deserves quite a bit more.


You see this tree was not as I've said,
But rather a friend I once made named Ben;
A friend I made at his lowest low,
He had no others or places to go.


I helped him out, found him new friends,
He was loyal to them, he'd fight til the end,
And then the day came that I moved away;
I regret it still, to this very day.


I do this because what happens next,
Ben takes a gun and shoots his own chest;
He taught me a lesson, I learned it well:
Don't leave a friend when they're going through hell.

 
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