Border Years. Poem by Peter Vealey

I've watched the trees.
Always thought they knew
More than they said.
I tried to stand
Inside another man.
But I've always been only me.
Well you got a Rover.
Because someone told you
The world will be over in
Ten years,
Come next Tuesday.
And their best
For running away
From bombs.
Heard the creaking gate
Of an old leaking lady's fate.
Tales.
Sat under empty days
Feeling my scars.
All that's been learnt
Is being burnt endlessly.
Listened for the wind
Howling strings.
A serenade for a
Farmer's maid.
Couldn't be better sung
Sunday romancers,
Two-time chancers.
Will be told to get lost
On an afternoon
As was this.
Chase the sun
To hiding places
We run.
Everytime.
Lyrical trees, painful breeze.
Tomorrow, another endless sneeze.
Open roads, I want to go.
Its a whistle from the wild.
Into the country, out to the peace
No man can handle.
Ring your bells, have as many fights
As you can find.
But listen please to the rain
Thro' the night
Parked 'Rover', tried to own her.
But she wanted a younger man.
Was whispered at me
From someone whose name,
I've just forgotten.
Your not interested, been elected
Best-dressed man of the borough.
So who can drink
With you on
Sunday dinner times now?