They've been good to me the council, I mean
they put me here
and when all's said it's not that bad a scheme.
With my penthouse flat I'm the overseer
of the world below me its rights and wrongs
and from my sitting room, well man the views!
Of the far green hills and the rising sun
in the early hours gives my heart a song
that only fades when I switch on the news.
But it's the roundabout that yields me fun.
It lives below me and I must give thanks
to whoever
placed it here, a planners' pen, paper blank,
if it were like that no planner better.
For he drew into my life such real joy
I've known too much sadness - I lost a son
but don't dwell on that watch the roundabout!
Enter, exit, quick and slow, bold and coy
I see it all each day, what have I done?
They all pass through it but I have no doubt
That they love its lanes and its scrubbed white paint
guiding them on
some too confident, others like to faint.
Their parents drove here 'neath the self-same sun.
Indeed a time or two I must recount
an accident, mans lust for the violent.
Up here, I will confess, within my heart
I saw all the signs but I did not shout
the warning words I could have sent
but looked on in horror as per my part.
And so, I suppose, until near the end -
I'm not quite sure
when I'll make that choice - I will have to spend
my time in this flat the unnoticed viewer.
Watching you drive the roundabout, your car
spluttering, stalling, even breaking down.
A journey joyful and sometimes sad
taking you nowhere or taking you far
through congested traffic enough to drown
out all my loneliness, leaving me glad.