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The Pipe Smoking Bear

He was less like a man and more like a bear,

A huge slab of a beast, with a shock of grey hair

That stuck out from his head, like straw from a bale,

Broad stooping shoulders, unmistakably male

And underneath his bearish long snout

More white and grey hair did waywardly sprout.

A bushy moustache and a hedgehog type beard

And now if you’re thinking, this is too weird!

Protruding from all this untamable thatch,

A tobacco pipe - imagine that!

A pipe-smoking man-bear I tell you it’s true!

Puffing a pipe is what he liked to do.

A pipe-smoking bear - I do not kid

Because with my own eyes I saw what he did.

He dug deep in his pockets and rummaged a bit,

Found a gold metal tin with green writing on it,

Golden Virginia it said on the top

And with one curly bear claw he opened it up,

Pulled out some tobacco, stuffed it into the bowl

Sucked on the pipe and then gave a growl,

Took out a dampener, to squish it in tight,

Then struck up a match to set it alight.

Then as he puffed on the pipe, I watched his face soften.

He looked slightly less fierce, now that he had gotten

Some Golden Virginian smoldering nicely

In the bowl of the pipe, then he said to me wisely,

“A pipe is a fountain of contemplation,

The philosopher’s friend, a gift to the nation,

The value of which is too hard to measure

When something so simple can gives so much pleasure.”

And it’s calming affect became blatantly clear,

As with each puff of the pipe he became less like a bear

And more like a man, with wise words to say.

So I’ll leave it at that and be on my way.

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