Son, if life’s a train that you ride upon
(Conductor absent yet tickets aren’t free?),
With stops where others get off or get on,
But you remain, rooted like the tree
Of life, it’s found that each leafy limb
Is covered in the leaves of passenger friends,
Who sometimes may leave if you get a trim.
Though they may come back, you know. Just depends.
For each friendly leaf, there’s a personal go
At death in the winter, and revival in spring.
The majority spent in summery glow,
And, if not, then what’s the use of the thing?
Of the leaves they collect? Well, depends on the tree,
On the life that they lead, which leaves they befriend.
Departed friends may coat their roots like a sea.
Perhaps they are bristled, and hang through to the end.
To tend to these ends eats up a lot of your time.
Your energy, too, you give where you should.
To be denied this wealth is the truest of crime,
Bona-fide friendships are made in this wood.
There are friends with whom you fall back in,
As if years ago had just been yesterday.
The distance you’ve traveled, the places you’ve been,
(Like the lines that lie ‘round your eyes) fade away.
Or, perhaps even better, there’s someone you find
With whom you’ve lost touch, an internal “farewell!”
Conscious or not, you’d hoped they’d refined..
There’s no greater treasure than to say they are well.
Friends lie, too, in places you don’t know about,
And ones that you’ve yet to attend.
If you’re out of place, or feel singled out,
Destroy an enemy by making them a friend
Point is, life’s glum if you go it alone,
But you’re not supposed to! Don’t you get it?!
It requires warmth, and care (even love!), to be grown,
But for a friendship? You will not regret it.