Pipe and pouch the Smoker's Own Book of Poetry
Scris: 22 Apr 2014, 14:57A poet's pipe am I,
And my Abyssinian tint
Is an unmistakable hint
That he lays me not often by.
When his soul is with grief o'erworn
I smoke like the cottage where
They are cooking the evening fare
For the laborer's return.
I enfold and cradle his soul
In the vapors moving and blue
That mount from my fiery mouth;
And there is power in my bowl
To charm his spirit and soothe,
And heal his weariness too.
O mica colectie de poezi peste care am dat din intamplare, a-m postat un exemplu din carticica. Sper sa va placa.
And my Abyssinian tint
Is an unmistakable hint
That he lays me not often by.
When his soul is with grief o'erworn
I smoke like the cottage where
They are cooking the evening fare
For the laborer's return.
I enfold and cradle his soul
In the vapors moving and blue
That mount from my fiery mouth;
And there is power in my bowl
To charm his spirit and soothe,
And heal his weariness too.
O mica colectie de poezi peste care am dat din intamplare, a-m postat un exemplu din carticica. Sper sa va placa.