When the world gets loud or tangly,

Sometimes I climb a tree,

Up high so I can sort things out

And figure how they ought to be.

That’s just my way. I’m Benny.

And if things still seem all befuddled

When the sorting’s done—

Like the world below me’s thick in smoke

And filled with workers’ sounds and shouts—

I think up past me and the treetop

And ask God what it’s all about.

Then when I feel a little better,

And inside I’m not in doubt,

I climb down to the world again

And go on with what I was about …

As I never did before!