A letter (Revised version)

I wish to tell of a boy named "Me", who had no hardships or tragedies but all the same he begs on his knees, "Please, oh, please listen to me".

But who is he and why hear him, that little boy, that joyful Me?

He can't relate to sufferings, plus the things you're cursed to be; for he hasn't seen where you have been and haven’t been where your eyes have seen.

And Me, himself, does not dispute. He knows that truth to be true.

But he sees your face and can't deny; all the while not sure why, confused by it, by and by.

If he could I know Me would,

take the bandage from your eye.

But who is he to do such things? He's just a boy who knows nothing.

So he waited and looked around, seeing who else could help you down.

But no one came and no one noticed, no one cared to wonder how.

All alone he sees you now, as Me searched to help somehow.

In one thing he found the answer; in one thing he found the way.

That one thing was everything,

giving all his life away!

In a story he'll put it down, in a poem his voice will sound.