A three pipe poem (ode to a Peterson!) 

In this video I show you two beautiful books and read you a new poem about the combined pleasures of smoking, reading and composing. Here's the poem:
A Three Pipe Lockdown Poem
And so my solitude resumes,
I settle down to light my pipe
And fill the air with fragrant fumes
And muse awhile, till I am ripe
With mellowed verse, and empty time
Is ready to be filled with rhyme.
Ranged on my shelves in patient print
The poets keep me company:
One phrase of theirs might be the hint,
The prompt for some new harmony;
Their echoes in my mind repeat
And their old meters keep the beat.
For in my mind their minstrelsy
Is somehow kindled and renewed,
As Andrew Marvel stands with me
In my ‘delicious solitude’,
I smoke a pipe with Tennyson
As Larkin nods to Betjeman.
Their echoes in my mind repeat,
Their cadences still fill my soul,
Call me to capture, to complete,
To make my broken verses whole,
To draw their courses where they run
And mould the many into one.
So help me, my old Peterson,
And let your incense still inspire,
Smoke sweetly till my task is done,
Your bowl aglow with friendly fire,
Until I bring, in true repose,
My three pipe poem to a close.
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