Wallowing in a bout of self pity
I sat beneath this tree,
Evening birds did sing their song
And a comfort came over me.
This old tree had rested here
For oh so many years,
I layed my back against it's trunk
As my comfort turned to tears.

As I wept I heard a voice
"Things cannot be that bad,"
My eyes looked up, there he was
This old man and his bag.
With aching back and trembling knees
Beside me he did rest,
He placed his bag upon his lap
My mind felt some unrest.

His face was lined with heartache age
His hair as white as snow,
Clothes were tattered, grey as dust
His actions were so slow.
"I've seen you here many a time"
He said in a voice so careing,
"Always alone, always sad,
I've something with you I'll be sharing."

"Beside this tree I've come to die
For he is my best friend,
In this bag, is all my life
Of this you will attend."
With fragile hands he opened his bag
Spread the contents for me to see,
A lifetime of pictures, pictures of life
And one of him planting this tree.

"No one will weep for me when I am gone
For my love she long passed away,
I leave you my life, here in this bag
To my God now I must pray."
Quietly I left him, there by his tree
His death I'll never forget,
This man had bequeathed me, all of his life
Even though we'd only just met.

I no longer wallow or think of self doubt
For this man had taught me to see,
He taught me that friendship is all around,
He taught me, there's more than just me.

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