Whilst smoking rolls of fragrant, dried-out leaves,

Perhaps ailst thou afaint, persistent cough.

'Tho say'st, "'Tis nothing"; naught tothee it grieves,

Thy words ring false - And I have heard themoft!

For those who tempt with smoke the hand of Fate

May wellbelieve no harm can come to them;

Ofttimes the glimpse of Truth comes fartoo late: -

the choking gasps, the rasping voice - and then

Suchhorrors, that do pain me to describe:

The black'ned remnants, onceinnards of a man;

A mother's babe, without means to survive ...

Escape unscathed? Methinks one never can.

With earnest face, Ibeg: this is no joke -

'Tis best to say, "Kiss me - I do notsmoke."