On Giving Up Smoking

On Giving Up Smoking.

Said the cigarette to the pint pot

I can't understand,

Is it me or is it my face?

While you remain in fashion,

I seem to be in disgrace.

Then raising itself in a superior way

And with a smile

That was quite disengaging,

The pint pot was heard

Quite clearly to say,

What a foolish dispute we are waging.

While I am as sweet

As a garden of roses,

You are a nuisance it's clear.

There's nothing but coughing

And blowing of noses,

Such noises unpleasant to hear.

Neither praise nor blame

We can claim our own,

So please let's have no more pretenses.

You've done just as much as me

To disengage the senses.

~~~

British Bill © 1992

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