Beside the hearth where shadows softly dance, The evening slows into a quiet trance. Within the humidor of cedar sweet, A world of patience and of craft complete.
The wrapper leaf, a flawless, silky skin, Holds all the secret mysteries within. From fertile valleys where the sun is bright, To curing barns untouched by morning light.
A master’s touch has sorted every vein, Through years of sun and elemental rain. The binder holds the filler tight and true, A blend of leaves the master blender knew.
You take the cutter, clean and sharp and bright, And clip the cap to start the evening right. A gentle draw to taste the cold, sweet air, Before the flame meets cedar waiting there.
To toast the foot, you spin it in the glow, And watch the cherry orange start to show. Then bring it to your lips and draw it deep, As all the day’s heavy anxieties sleep.
The first thick cloud is creamy, rich, and pale, A fragrant ship that sets a gentle sail. With hints of cocoa, leather, and of spice, A single moment transformed into paradise.
The ash grows long, a tower draped in gray, A testament to time that slips away. No need to rush, no reason to contend, The finest wrapper is a faithful friend.
Through half an inch, the flavors shift and change, Into a deeper, more robust, and earthy range. Like vintage wine or stories told of old, The layered notes of history unfold.
The smoke-rings drift and vanish in the air, A fleeting art that’s gone without a care. For in this ritual of leaf and flame, The busy world forgets its hurried game.
And as the final band is pulled away, You toast the ending of a weary day. A quiet peace inside a wooden chest, Where premium cigars provide their best.
Drop a thought-someone out there needs your spark