I can still see the smoke,
raise up around his head.
Grandfather and his pipe,
as he worked there in his shed.
Making penny whistles,
and humming a little song.
Puffing on his pipe,
while I'd sing along.
The smoke had a sweet smell,
like some kind of spice.
I could tell it anyplace,
because it smelled so nice.
I used to think the smoke,
was kind of like a cloud.
When it circled his head,
his look made me so proud.
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