The saddest picture I ever saw was of my friend when he was three or four.
He was riding his father’s shoulders, and exuded a sweet smile,
No one could possibly know it would end in a short while.
He died inside his car you see,
He didn’t believe he should go on and breathe.
He didn’t think life had any meaning left,
But when we saw his pictures we all felt bereft.
And yet I see him every once in a while,
He is on the face of people who rarely smile.
I don’t need to see their faces or hear them when they speak,
I just look at their bodies, which always talk to me.
And when I get down I think of the sadness his death brought,
I think of my life, and all that it has taught.
So instead of doing something rash I call family instead,
But inside I wonder who is really at their end?
Who could really use a friend?
That’s why I keep on writing to save even one life,
The Talmud says it can save the world, and somehow that would make things right.
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