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Santa stood by the fire
With a pipe in his teeth
With smoke in the air
Circling him like a wreath

Clement Clarke Moore
Said this so long ago
But, what kind of pipe
I'm sure you don't know

Santa, a smoker
That's nothing new
If you remember the poem
Then you'll know it's true

The pipe, oh so slender
A small bowl at the end
A slight whisper of smoke
In the air, it would send

It arched to the floor
To the end of his beard
If it ever got close
Then his beard would be seared

The tobacco he smoked
Was a Turkish fine blend
With cloves and some nutmeg
Just how much, would depend

Was he giving out presents
Or sitting down by a fire
That determined just what
He would put in his briar

The pipe had a name
It was a Churchwarden pipe
Made of briar so old
A now long extinct type

Red Man tobacco
Some days he'd switch
But, not very often
It made his nose itch

The pipe is a classic
It shows Santa had style
Though it had a small bowl
It would last him a while

He could make rings appear
And they would circle his head
Or he'd just taste the spice
And form a small cloud instead

A Churchwarden pipe
Can be smoked by so few
It's a long way to draw
It's a tough thing to do

The scent that it leaves
Is of burnt spices and pear
And if you should smell it
You know Santa was there

So, this Christmas instead
Make it your pre bedtime goal
To leave out some OHM Turkish
To replenish his bowl
Willow shade Dec 2017
Sometimes you tried to be punitive
And I felt your inner worries to save,
I perceived your deep anxious initiative,
As every time you suggested a new colder grave...
To be protected from your frigid attitude
I used my profound senses to flame,
I tried to heat with the warmth of solitude
And with your such approach, you could only lame...
You had a right decision with erroneous cures
That's why nothing's changed and all are the same
Namely, punishment cannot better,
The one thing it can do - it is just to tame

It's like trying to persuade or hit a hedgehog
Like other furry ones you usually treat
In any case, your clement hands are injured
And if you're hurt, you know, I am also hurt.
Because you are my contentment and serenity,
You are the peace of my disordered mind
All my instincts would have taken me to you
Even though my heart was completely dull
Even if my eyes were absolutely blind,
Even though my legs were reluctant to go
And in spite of all adversities I would undergo.
You console my misery with your existence
You create new values inside my heart,
You make all futilities gone away at once
You are my savior angel I can't take apart...

One day,
I will have to leave,
Maybe anything will link neither me nor you.
But now I have a solace - the thing I always hated,
And hereafter I love it just only for you
How I cannot love this solace, tell me,
If it cuddles me and embraces all time?!
We live in the same world, in the same country,
Even in the same city, even just in a distance of half an hour...
So, regardless that even I will never be able to reach,
It lets me fly forever between me and you
You have to be glad and respect what you have created,
But conversely, for this, I am happier than you.
If you have built a fire in someone,
You must not either burn your hands or you mustn't blow it out,
Understand that you can also warm yourself
Yes, if it is a fire, sometimes it will try to flame,
It is a fire, to burn is its character and you cannot blame,
You can calm it only with your generosity,
With your deep understanding,
Letting it scorch in your drizzling looks
With the reflection of happiness in your eyes
And then I would be serene, I would feel no pain,
But I think you would use your hands again
You would use them very well for shaking your fingers at me
Oh, your remedial hands and fingers...
I wish you used them to correct vital mistakes,
As you did always in my writings,
I wish you used them instead of your feelings or thoughts
I wish you used them only for protection and caressing
I wish you mothered all my fears and miseries
As you have that potential inside
And I had seen, had experienced it before
So, I would not want anything more...

But you are again moving on the wrong path,
It silently takes you to a wrong destination
You are trying to save again with wrong ways
You try to find all differences to help,
And I feel your worry when we are similar
I do not explore similarities between us,
Understand, you are for me just who you are!
They anticipate she writes
when insult their cat o' nine tails
and an officer with a retort
but yesteryear she tucks away her blues  
and she's an inspiration with Jedediah
for a casual acquaintanceship inherently  
or irreverently entwine anyway
as any foibles of hers are bare
with clement she need to see there
far and away ever a man alive again.
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