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!