It's a deathstick smoked with certitude,
by a vast assorted multitude.
Least concerned with the risks are they,
allege the results of many a survey.
As it burns from tip till end,
End of a journey it portends.
As it goes from ashes to dust,
One's inside it incrusts.
knowing this well, they're loath to miss,
the enticing deathstick's deadly kiss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem