While working on a sermon the pastor heard a knock at his office door. "Come in," he invited. A sad-looking man in threadbare clothes came in, pulling a large pig on a rope. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" asked the ma... Read more of Kids On Marriage at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...



CANNON SONG.








And it has turned since you and I
Set out to face the world alone;
And, in a garret near the sky,
Had scarce a crust to call our own,
But many a banquet, Barmecide;
And many a dream of hope divine,
Lie buried in the moaning tide,
That drowns the past, old pipe of mine!

But prosing isn't quite the thing,
And so, I guess, I'll give it up:
Just wait a moment while I sing;
We'll have another parting cup,
And then to bed. The stars are low;
Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine;
So here she goes, and off we go
To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!

JOHN J. GORMLEY.





Next: CANNON SONG.

Previous: OLD PIPE OF MINE.



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