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Cannabis Quatrains
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I awoke... and
divorced old lies and laws from my bed,
And espoused the
flowers of the Indian Hemp instead.
That fickle mistress,
gold digger, tramp and whore-
That soothed my heart
and fed my hungry questing head.
That precious herb
that men set their hearts upon
May turn to ashes--
but her seed prospers; and anon,
Like snow flakes
lighting on a hot desert sand dune
Lighting but a moment
or two, and then... it is gone.
So, plant the herb
that with logic absolute
A thousand laws and
false doctrines refute;
That sweet and subtle
alchemy, that in a puff--
Life's Leaden metal
into gold it does transmute.
With Kindness the seed
of paradise I did sow
By my will, my love, I
sought to make it grow;
And this was all the
harvest that I reaped--
I fell like the rain,
and like a puff of smoke, I go.
And this delightful
herb, that tight bud of green
Fills the old glass
bong on which we lean.
Ah... lean upon it
lightly! For who really knows
From what once lovely
lips it has passed unseen.
Then an addict spoke
with a drawn out sigh--
"My mouth from smoking
has gone dry;
But fill me with those
familiar dank Kush buds,
Then perhaps... I'll
recover once I get high!"
Then another voice,
through the smoke cries,
"These golden Jamaican
buds will open your eyes!"
A whisper I hear... as
I sit up, awake to partake.
"Fool! The herb once
smoked... forever dies."
And indeed the herbs I
have loved so long
have done my credit in
this world much wrong:
I have smoked my glory
in a shallow bowl,
And sold my reputation
for a bud in a bong!
But as much as herbs
have been my infidel,
And robbed me of my
place of honor-- Well,
Often have I wondered
what the dealers buy-
That is half so
precious as the buds they sell.
The Hemp Goddess with
buds my life did provide,
So smoke my body
whence the life has died,
And lay me down,
shrouded in the living leaf...
Deep within some
secret green-bud garden side.
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