Musings On A Warm Afternoon. Poem by Bryan Sefton

You can thank your Mother for the man you are
And fire your rocket to the farthest star
Rattle out a rhythm on blues guitar
Take pleasure in the sound of makes

You can watch the steps of your shadow in the sun
And the stride will lengthen as the day moves on
If your shadow doesn't follow you to match your tread
Friend, you're dead

You can cast your vision to the farthest star
And tell from its position just where you are
But if your dreams cannot tell you where you need to go
You don't need to know

There's a battery fed chicken standing in a cage
And a paralysed person who can't turn the page
But if no words flow from the tip of your pen
Your no better than them

There's a fox in a trap chewing off his leg
And a man with no leg who is forced to beg
And an alcoholic fellow down to the dregs
And your sad because your toast is burned

So you can thank your Mother for the man you are
And fire your rocket to the farthest star
Or rattle out a rhythm on a blues guitar
Be grateful for the sound of makes