The Policeman

Beneath the spreading chestnut tree
The village policeman stands;
His heavy upright bicycle
At rest beneath his hands.
His is an often lonely life
For few can be his friend;
Most people aren't as honest
As they themslves pretend.
And its hard to send reports in
On someone you may like
For riding through the village
On a brakeless, lampless bike.
Yet the villagers respect him
and they bring him their complaints
Of their neighbours latest nuisance;Village people are not saints.
He's a friend to all; yet friend of none,
The peace is in his hands
As 'neath the spreading chestnut tree
The village policeman stands.