punk
In the shade of the hemlocks of Sourdnahunk.
Ah, here do the tables most wondrously turn!
The city olfactories sniff if you burn
Aught else than the finest Havana in rolls;
Folks turn up their noses at cut-plug in bowls;
You may roam where you like with the base
cigarette
But you can’t smoke your pipe in the house,
now you bet.