Christian and Kris ----Rewritten----

I consider Christian a good friend to me He stands tall, as a mighty oak tree Who could imagine or want to see An oak fall so devastatingly When she was taken so savagely Kris He ranted, he raved so angrily He cursed and yelled quite bitterly Then he would sadly cry to me And ask, “Why? Why? Why?” to me Would God take the mother of his baby? Kris He made an effort to move on then I tried to be a supportive friend I doubt he read the things I’d send Then he’d ask me, “When? When? When?” Would his heart’s healing for her begin? Kris I can picture him very late at night With his eyes closed real, real tight Picturing the two of them in the bright sunlight Knowing these feelings are not those he can fight So he whispers to no one in the night I love you, Kris.