Some grass, my love, into the bong.
we’ll pass it around most eagerly.
Smells sweet and tasty, not too strong. . .
the lighting up ceremony.

Green leaves are all my joy,
green leaves I set alight,
green leaves—Acapulco gold.
They make me so lazy, green leaves

Some grass, my love—not that that’s mown—
starts a gram inflammatory.
I will not levitate alone;
we will in the empyrean be.

“Oh wow!” you’ve spoken; from the mart
I’ve brought stuff for a snacking spree
so that we can nosh à la carte.
I won’t hog tartes, so don’t be smacking me!

My gut distends. . .munchies’ domain;
I commit diet blasphemy.
I feel no pain but have mo’ gain,
a lover of gastronomy.

I have been “bready,” into pan,
and it is whole grain that I crave.
I’ll take another hit of cann’
to which and to grub I’m a slave.

To smoke promotes no earthly fling—
my voyage, interplanetary.
And yet, I am no Mormon king. . .
would be excess fantasy.

I bought a kilo for my head,
to make thoughts soar effortlessly.
The stuff I scored, the dealer said,
was much more potent than LSD.

I had three petty tokes. . .was impressed
by the effect it had on me.
But after the smoke had egressed,
felt like I had COPD.

But then my head had taken flight;
I was enmeshed in reverie.
More petty tokes I had that night,
with no one to referee.

I was so stoned from this green
that I thought I saw a fairy.
She looked just like the opaline
being that absinthe ferries.

I was way up, could not come down—
getting straight was futility.
I could not with feet touch the ground—
there’s no need to pillin’ be.

Thought I: “I cannot get more high,
and yet I kept on fillin’ me.
I could no more believe my eye—
I needed a chillin’ spree.

So green leaves will no more ensue. . .
seek sativa sobriety
(post-sativa satiety).
Now cerebellum I imbue
with gin, vodka and whiskey.

Green leaves I o’er employed,
green leaves were my delight,
green leaves in paper I rolled.
Now booze has bid “Adieu!” to green leaves.