On Pipes

O what can match the true delight

Of pipe and fire, both burning bright

The knees and cheeks and hands kept warm

while good tobacco does no harm

The fire roaring, the pipe well packed

Bids weary travelers to relax

The pouch is fat, the day is done

Loss deep bound thoughts to oblivion

Whilst fire and air combine to free

The flavor of the mind's reprieve

So many friends this moment share

As a modest collection of pipes to bare

To briar, sweet briar, the start and end

The great gift of the Mediterranean

As time is passed your colors change

Hard evidence of a friend well made

And clay, dear clay, my earthy friend,

our sweet simplicity to lend

Meerschaum, so dear, so elegant,

The sea's great gift to thinking gents

My corn cob, thoughtful, from the land

Pensive, impermanent, in my hand

Oh my friends, me to outlast

when from this body, free I'm cast

Who shall you next accompany

Through thoughtful tempest and reverie?

Could all my thoughts run out my nose

into your bowl, then up in smoke

Would my time spent less worthy be

If not to learn, I'm much like thee?

Consumed and burning, funeral pyre

Some pleasure bring as leaf in briar

As burn I in this bowl of clay

I'll hope to hear The Tobacconist say:

"Ah, what a sweet, unbiting bowl."

Then scraped, tapped out, and be made whole.

~me