ODE TO A BUTT
Poem number 11 by the late Eileen Breen
March 27, 1916 - May 5, 2006
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ODE TO A BUTT
Oh, glowing end beneath the grate
Lying alone, deserving better fate
You’ve soothed turmoil in my savage breast
And burned a hole within my wooly vest
Your smoke rings rose like halos ‘round my head
Charming last conscience hours of mine in bed
And now you lie there waiting to be swept
Into the dust, unhonoured and unwept
To hold you to my trembling lips again
I fain would do, but it would cause me pain
So I must say farewell to you, my friend
Smoked and consumed until the bitter end.
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Note: Eileen Breen smoked as a young girl and woman.
She stopped when she was in her 30s because
"The smoke was makin' the ceilings yellow, hidin' in the curtains
and smellin'up the whole house,"
was her reason.