BOY <br /> <br />Most venerable and learned sir, <br />Tall and true Philosopher, <br />These rings of smoke you blow all day <br />With such deep thought, what sense have they? <br /> <br />PHILOSOPHER <br /> <br />Small friend, with prayer and meditation <br />I make an image of Creation. <br />And if your mind is working nimble <br />Straightway you’ll recognize a symbol <br />Of the endless and eternal ring <br />Of God, who girdles everything— <br />God, who in His own form and plan <br />Moulds the fugitive life of man. <br />These vaporous toys you watch me make, <br />That shoot ahead, pause, turn and break— <br />Some glide far out like sailing ships, <br />Some weak ones fail me at my lips. <br />He who ringed His awe in smoke, <br />When He led forth His captive folk, <br />In like manner, East, West, North, and South, <br />Blows us ring-wise from His mouth.<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/smoke-rings/
