A Man and his Pipe
On the porch a man and his pipe,
Striking his match and lighting his Briar not once, not, twice, but thrice,
A charring light, a false light, a true light then poof....
He disappears in rhythmic puffs of fire, smoke and ash,
Nature at his feet and the bustling world in the back of his mind,
The modern people will spit and curse at him but the men of old will understand,
A wise man once said
A pipe is the fountain of contemplation, the source of pleasure,
the companion of the wise;
and the man who smokes, thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a Samaritan,
The ignorant will laugh, but the men of leaf and briar will understand,
For this is what entails a man and his pipe


O Brier
O Brier take me to the world betwixt Heaven and Earth,
Let thy bowl run deep with the embers golden glow,
Let thy tobacco blacken and grey, let my Golden Ash
Release thy wild smokey plumes up into the Autumn breeze,
from thy blackened Brier bowl
Let thy dark earthy spices and crackling pepper awaken my mind
Let thy subtle sweetness put me in serenity,
and let thy heavenly smoke calm my soul
O Brier let thy fiery core never extinguish, let thy smokey veil never vanish,
and let thy bowl never be void

Don't fight it you know it's true.

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