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Poem	Because I love the soothing weed And am of sober type, I'd choose me for a friend in need A man who smokes a pipe. A cove who hasn't much to say, And spits into the fire, Puffing like me a pipe of clay, Corn-cob or briar. A chap original of thought, With cheery point of view, Who has of gumption quite a lot, And streaks of humour too. He need not be a whiskered sage, With wisdom over-ripe: Just give me in the old of age A pal who smokes a pipe. A cigarette may make for wit, Although I like it not; A good cigar, I must admit, Gives dignity to thought. But as my glass of grog I sip I never, never gripe If I have for companionship A guy who smokes a pipe.
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