SmokeWhat thoughts have smoldered in your bowl?Oft the idle body met a venturesome mind over your ember-- You cradled living ashéd soul, and its free spirit took its time of repose to ponder, peruse, and remember. At work, imagination's barred: The toils of the day flutter and sputter a mess of ho-hum dullish dirge. At rest, the muse lets down her guard: Calm is the crysalis in which briliance pupates, trebles, and finally will emerge. What fruits of thought did you see ripe, Ye musing bard, ye smoking pipe? |