"WHY ON EARTH DO PEOPLE SMOKE?"
By Edward Royds
[Edward Royds, in "British Anti-tobacco Journal."] He sat amid a cloud of smoke;
No sound the evening stillness broke.
His little son was sitting by,
And every now and then would sigh.
Tommy, stretched on the garden chair,
His eyes so bright, his legs so bare,
Then opened wide those wistful eyes,
And, in a tone of great surprise,
Said, "Father, dear, don't think I joke,
But why on earth do people smoke?" His father leaned upon his book,
And then put on a puzzled look:
"My boy, I do not know at all."
And then he let his features fall,
And, giving him a playful poke,
He slowly said, "Why don't you smoke?" The saucer eyes came bigger still,
And then with tears began to fill:
"I have tried hard, but found I couldn't;
You mustn't think it's 'cause I wouldn't;
I did try hard to learn it, dad,
But, O, it made me feel so bad!
I longed to smoke before I tried,
But, O, I thought I should have died!" His father smiled, and then again,
With emphasis, the question came,
"But, father, dear, don't think I joke,
Why ever do the people smoke?" Then came the answer, low and clear:
"You puzzle father, Tommy, dear;
But, just to keep you from suspense,
I think it is 'for want of sense.'"