23 Epitaph on the death of Professor Isenberg To Douglas She was his finest cigarette -- Was she? -- Slick in the mouth, and bitter in the throat. And dropping ash, He had his finest smoke. He lit her And she gave some light to him -- A tiny light, When night turns colours black, A stealing touch, When everything gets burnt. He loved to smoke, he loved to smoke his world. He left her, when she was too close to ash. Slick in the mouth, and bitter In the chest -- A funny smoke, when night had made him choke -- Night lit him And enjoyed its finest smoke, And dropped his ash for other cigarettes.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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