End of the Street.

He grew up at the end of fern avenue,

 

The large birch outside his window,

 

Thin walls, he hears his sister sing, then cry,

 

Records scratched, yet played, he stares through the tree to the sky,

 

She worked nights, he climbed out to meet,

 

The girls under the tree,

 

Warm beer spilled and his heart was broke,

 

Longer periods of time in silence when he never spoke,

 

He's damaged, he knows, Dad holds him, his smell consumes,

 

Son Im dying, please come home soon?

 

He pulls over, Dad passes through him, I'm so sorry for what I've done,

 

Mom on the stairs, smiles through tears, we're ok son,

 

24 and there's so much more, 

 

Harvest plays, brushes his long hair and feels,

 

No matter what I become, I forever stand under the birch, as a boy or man,

 

Dad on the steps, smiling at me...