To Smoke!
To puff each stroke,
A pipe in hand to stoke;
Sweet tastes betwixt my jaws provoke
To thoughts and proofs my mind. Whiles I am woke
I drift in dreams of streams of silky smoke, I soak
My flying whims, to all philosophies: can words evoke
Those selfsame schemes as swim in bounteous clouds of smoke, tall tales of folk,
Those epics, sonnets, ballads long of yore when men were strong, without revoke?
What spacious power, expressed in silvery wisps, can cause a soul to glimpse the essence spoke
By his own words, and sung by his own chords? What clarity of will dost he convoke?
Forgotten fancies candid made, of rushes stirred, of wildest bullfrog's croak
The Muse's ancient kiss revived dwells full alive, without a yoke-
Received while to the pipe-stem press my lips- I feel a poke
I rest, armchair ornate, as if I had awoke
From slumber, taking sips of bottled coke.
Strength I now wield, a heart not broke
To write what Muses voke.
Tragic or joke,
I Smoke.
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