Thou
little roll of rich tobacco sweet
Grown
‘neath the tropic sun of far off skies,
A
wealth of happiness within you lies,
A
rich aroma such as gods would greet.
Minding
me of the breath of Marguerite.
How
happily thou’rt named O sweet cigar!
Her
name and thine a pair to love indeed,
For
when I draw upon thee, fragrant weed,
And
send quick upward curling rings afar,
I
see her face within thy smoke; her eyes
Look
down upon me as they did of old,
Enhanced
by wreaths of blue – a halo lies
Above
her queenly head, and all the gold
Of
time could give me not such paradise!
Oct.
9, ‘99
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