Poetry Archives

Because I love the soothing weed
          And am of sober type,
I’d choose me for a friend in need
          A man who smokes a pipe.
A cove who hasn’t much to say,
          And spits into the fire,
Puffing like me a pipe of clay,
          Corn-cob or briar.

A chap original of thought,
          With cheery point of view,
Who has of gumption quite a lot,
          And streaks of humour too.
He need not be a whiskered sage,
          With wisdom over-ripe:
Just give me in the old of age
          A pal who smokes a pipe.

A cigarette may make for wit,
          Although I like it not;
A good cigar, I must admit,
          Gives dignity to thought.
But as my glass of grog I sip
          I never, never gripe
If I have for companionship
          A guy who smokes a pipe.