Somehow, the fire I saw not long ago
Has subsequently chased me, high and low;
Runs back and forth betwixt my head and heart,
And shows no disposition to depart.
And so I've wandered‘ round ( too much, perhaps ),
And got acquainted with the fireman chaps,
And planted good cigars where they would seem
Inclined to grow up helpful to my scheme.
( I never smoke; but, travelling near and far,
There's few things help one like a good cigar;
When safe between a neighbor's teeth‘ tis hung,
It oils his ways and loosens up his tongue.
I get more from cigars, before it's through,
Than all the fellows that I give them to.
Perhaps they should not smoke; but, if they will,
My method helps their families foot the bill. )
Not long ago a sturdy fireman lad,
Who smoked up every last cigar I had,
Unrolled the following story to my view,
Which I believe ( conditionally ) true: