Part 2 — MY CIGARETTE.
Reading edition
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry? Why this small tear, So pure and clear, In each blue eye? "My cigarette— I 'm smoking yet?" (I'll be discreet.) I toss it, see, Away from me Into the street. You see I do All things for you. Come, let us sup. (But, oh, what joy To be that boy Who picked it up.)
TOM HALL.