Conflicts

When I went to school in the city my friends though I was poor, but I didn’t understand wasn’t really very sure; I only knew that when I got home I had all those miles of fields to roam, and every long summer within easy reach, half hour’s walk, was Cowden beach. They may have had running water and toilets that flushed but I hated their streets their lives that rushed. I was never ever at ease when I was there, hated the noise, the very air. They had the cinemas, I had the sun. They could play in the parks I could walk with my gun; and very special, I had two lives. My friends known almost from birth village folk with families like mine mostly living from and with the earth and my newly found city friends. I kept each in their own part of my day the best of both worlds, I liked it that way. A man’s not poor if he needs to be told what he’s missing out there in the cold My life may have been considered lacking by those friends back there in the city, from my position it was they who needed my pity.