Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

The Smoker - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

You have an overwhelming need
to smoke that foul tobacco weed
you ruin your lungs when you inhale
it makes your facial skin so pale
you pay much money for the stuff
and never know when it's enough
it's an addiction now my dear
all due respect to you, I fear
that for a cure it is too late
says me, your whiskey-drinking mate.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, July 3, 2005

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