A lonley Friday night "Poem"
Stitting on my front porch,
My bong in my left hand,
My lighter in my right hand,
Ripping bowls in the moonless friday night.
The arouma of the freashly chared herbage,
Surrounds and takes hold of the air around you,
Imbracing your body with the evermost since of relaxation.
Yet I sit and pounder...
But for if I was without my stash,
For my mind wouldnt be else where,
To think about this lonley moonless friday night.
-jo
My bong in my left hand,
My lighter in my right hand,
Ripping bowls in the moonless friday night.
The arouma of the freashly chared herbage,
Surrounds and takes hold of the air around you,
Imbracing your body with the evermost since of relaxation.
Yet I sit and pounder...
But for if I was without my stash,
For my mind wouldnt be else where,
To think about this lonley moonless friday night.
-jo