magic tin

english green surrounds

the wall trims and things

replete with artifacts,

reflect the hues therein,

with paisley carpet decored floors,

in tandem work with gold trim

and oak beams of shiny black,

that hold the ceiling stout,

for which provide the walls,

for support of varied books,

of topics manifold

toffees and crumpets,

splendid array displayed,

of quaint and cozy nook,

from whence i saw him took,

an ivory pipe that nests,

sweet scented moist tobacco,

from an elegant walnut hook

together work to fill the air

with memories,

like dreams that merge

with bluish white smoke that drifts

and swirls and trail themselves,

lightly,

ever so slightly,

into the quiet air,

close to the skin of my pensive face,

into my nose and to my lungs,

fills my shallow breath,

replete with magic thoughts

he puffs slowly,

gently and deliberately,

his bushy sideburns and tussled grey hair,

loose and thick upon his head,

and well trimmed beard,

bestow an aura of dignified repose

i am mystified

ever transfixed and mesmerized,

i am here to rest and contemplate,

let this setting in this place,

my heart warmly,

of he,

my fellow man,

embrace

he reaches for his favorite tin

lined with paisley and contained within,

his favorite toffee, fresh and clean,

sustained by his frequent use,

for times like this,

to eat,

let slowly melt

within his mouth

and merge therein,

with his black leaf tea

he drinks and savors it with warm delight,

“ah yes, my dear chap,

would you like a nip and a sip?”

he reaches out for me to grasp,

a toffee bit from the well worn tin

and motions with his merry eyes,

for me to help myself,

to an empty porcelain cup,

by which to join in

with the drink,

by which to wash the crumpet down,

by which to merge the toffee melt,

into my dreamy state of mind