I sit in my study away from the stress,
Of a busy world that throws me quite in distress,
Here I am surrounded by the finer things,
And the pleasant atmosphere that it brings.
A book to read, a drink to sip, a fine chair,
And my briar pipes and tobacco so fair.
Once my briar is lit and I’m puffing away,
My one desire is to remain and stay,
The haze of pipe smoke comforts my weary soul,
Charmed by the burning leaf in my bowl,
Here a man is allowed a quiet respite,
With this treasure my weary soul delights.
The cloud is thick but I’m content with ev’ry puff
And each turn of the page, for me its enough,
There is no want or need, only contentment,
I know dear pipe that you share this sentiment,
I don’t want to leave, oh pipe, but the catch is,
Oh dear, I believe I’ve run out of matches.