Peewee, who fancies himself kind,

Calls friendship the sharpest snare you'll find.

A philanthropist, he claims the cost

Of open trust is often lost.

 

“Loving’s a risk,” Peewee begins,

“No one wounds deeper than one you let in.

To give your heart is danger stark;

Few repay your light for their dark.”

 

For in the end, he’d come to learn,

That kindness, unreturned, will burn.

“A friend’s no mate who shows up late,

Or one who only comes when fate,

 

Deals you harsh blows—a hospital bed,

Bankruptcy looming, worry and dread.

If that’s the test, I'd rather stay

Blind to who would help or turn away.”

 

Peewee would often muse aloud,

“Trust isn’t friendship—though the crowd

Will tell you so. I trust my butcher for his trade;

But friends with him? That’s not conveyed.”

 

And most, says Peewee, “are unwise,

They harm themselves and close their eyes.

With smoke or drink, they take their toll—

Yet never would they treat a friend that way at all.”

 

So Peewee ponders, day by day,

If friends are found a truer way:

It’s not by words or empty cheers—

But acts and care that grow through years.