William Oughtred

Got up Friday, coffee and some blues.
Morning found a way to listen to you.

Rolled off the sheets, Beatles, toasted bread.
A walk through the park, some outside instead.

Took time to read about a guy I’d never heard of today,
and I don’t know how I got there.
Fridays haven’t always been like this
and I’m sure they’ll change again.

Handmade, crafted, covered face,
we don’t really see as many smiles these days.
He has got to, sgotta, go away.

Deep in a nap, a wiseman says breathe
and you will find you, and then they will see.

Afternoon sun, emails at a pool.
Quiet all around, folks sparse as slide rules.

Seals sing about eagles then the Queen souls let it be.
I was preaching to me.