Aren’t the rings so lovely as
They float above your head?
Cuddling the rafters, filling
Every little nook.
Didn’t the aroma of the shop
With all its’ blends fill you head
With silent notions as it set
Its fatal hook?
Pity. There, I said it.
I feel pity for your soul.
That one of your intelligence
Could be so far misled
By the sirens of
Seek no earthly good,
Who manipulate and procreate
With anyone they bed.
And I mean not to be unkind,
Do not want to scream or shout.
I’ll ask you once, then once again,
Please, put that cigarette out.
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