Poem by the Danish writer Tom Kristensen

My pipe

I am just a minor poet,

half a thinker, half a coot,

am in love with large-sized frock-coats,

large-sized hats, a large cheroot.

Fate provided me with frock-coats,

also passed me a cheroot;

but as far as white-hot passion

was concerned, gave me the boot.

Often I go out at nighttime

air the cobwebs in my brain

that have gathered in the daytime

while I ruminate again,

take my little pipe and light it;

should the wind prove hard to tame,

cup my hand with utmost caution

round my match’s warming flame,

watch it lick the stick up slowly,

smile though not the smiling type,

suck then with revered devotion

at the air-valve of my pipe.

Fate is where this pipe has come from

plus a goodly ration too

of tobacco as replacement

for the passion no can do.