POETRY OF SMOKE 



AN INTER WHIFF 



HERE on my back on the bank I lie, 

 With a pipe in my mouth, and watch the 



sky; 



And well do I know, beyond a joke, 

 That nature, like me, delights to smoke. 

 The little zephyrs down here in the grass 

 Puff at the weeds as they swiftly pass ; 

 While the breeze of the ether is not too 



proud 



Though almost too lazy to blow a cloud. 

 Every bird has a pipe of its own, 

 And each has its " bird's eye " views, 'tis 



known. 





