There was once a prophet whose name was trust
Trust, as his name suggested, was very trusting
It was both his greatest strength and greatest weakness
With a bit of trust people could do amazing things
But eventually he found one disciple
One There once was a man with a cane
An ordinary looking cane everyone though
But it was far from that
he new would betray him
But Trust couldn’t help but put his faith in him
For he saw the good within him
Good that he hoped to draw out

After sometime Trust had upset the local rulers
He was in hiding
Only one disciple knew where he was
Trust hoped his faith was rightly placed
Come morning Trust was dead
Throat slit in his sleep
A bag of silver in that one disciple’s hand