The old man turned to me and asked
   "How many friends have you?"
"Why ten or twenty friends have I,"
   And named off just a few

He rose quite slow with effort.
   And sadly shook his head.
"A lucky child you are
   To have so many friends," he said,

"But think of what you're saying;
   There is so much you do not know.
A friend is just not someone
   To whom you say `Hello'.

"A friend's a tender shoulder
   On which to softly cry;
A well to pour your troubles down
   And raise you spirits high."

"A friend is a hand to pull you up
   From darkness and despair...
When all your other ‘so-called' friends
   Have helped to put you there."

"A true friend is an ally
   Who can't be moved or bought;
A voice to keep your name alive
   When others have forgot."

"But most of all - a friend is a heart;
   A strong and sturdy wall;
For from the hearts of friends
   There comes the greatest love of all!!!"

"So think of what I've spoken;
   For every word is true;
And answer once again my child:
   How many friends have you?"

And then he stood and faced me,
   Awaiting my reply.
Softly I answered,
   "If lucky, one have I:
           You!"