Spare A Thought For The Cigarettes
Poem By Christopher Ryan
Oh, surgeon generals always claim
That smoking leads to death,
But people still smoke all the same
And putrefy their breath.
“For who are they, ” they gripe and whine,
“To tell us what to do? ”
And then they’ll claim that they’re just fine,
Although their lungs are blue.
For we have heard it often said
Of charcoal in the lungs,
And warty lips and gums that bled
And even hairy tongues,
But in the end what proof have we
That smoking is to blame?
These are natural ailments, see,
Or so the smokers claim.
And so I think it our best bet,
When viewing this foul crime,
To watch the sad, sad cigarette
That suffers all the time.
The cigarette will cry as he
Is taken from his pack –
Which is very sad, you see,
Because he won’t come back –
And from his home torn in this way
By some barbarous bloke,
The cigarette will curse the day
That man invented smoke.
Next his head is set alight,
Which must hurt quite a bit –
So terrible must be his fright
As that dread match is lit!
And as the cigarette by flame
Is burned and charred to ash,
The man will finish his cruel game
By stomping on this “trash”.
Oh, sad their fate, tobacco’s lot –
My cheeks by tears are wet –
So when you smoke, please spare a thought
Unto thy cigarette.