Willow Trees. Poem by Peter Vealey

Willow trees caressed
My face.
As if they knew me.
An old friend, yet adversary.
I have killed your friends,
The grass, the green, green grass of
My home!
But not with the miserable intent
Or ego.
Like some nearby would,
Have yer' believe,
And took anemic glee from
Willow trees,
I am heading home,
My days of dreaming for
A green idyllic lawn,
Have faded to,
A bad claustrophobic memory.
I will always admire your
Beauty,
Individually from afar.
I,
Have,
Run out of steam!
Not because,
Of a lack of love for nature
Or for my lover,
And dear, true friends!
It`s more become
My cross to bear!
A weary resignation
That humankind,
Cares very much more,
For one's proverbial neighbour
Across the so-named,
Neutral, daily distillery!