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my father´s box of cigars
My father´s box of cigars are all by there own on his locker room, with the perfect temperature for ciggars, and with his special cissors for cutting this bigs cigars, He always takes one cut it and all night or afternoon is smoking it, he finishes and put it again on this big box. He nevers uses cigarretes cause he doesnt like them , while he is studying or working this cigars and its box are with him always, even in meetings or dinners, lunch or breakfast, all day this ciggars are with him, He likes them too much that all his clothes smell like this, through Winter, simmertime , spring, this big cigars are always with him, his friends and family truly knows that a good gift for him. My father is a smoker in deed, but nota ll ciggars are the ones he smokes, only special ones, with a special taste , sometimes he would take them to trips.
Some sigh for this and that, his wishes dont go far, the world may wag at will but he has his cigar, some fret themselves to death, with whig and tory jar he doesnt care which is in, he just have his cigar, even in the requested votes, he doesnt care how it goes, he just have his cigar, Some want a German row, some wish a russian war, he is careles on how it goes, he just have its cigar, he nevers sees the post, he sheldom read the star, the globe, he scarcely heed, so he has his cigar, honors have come to men, juniors at the bar; no matter – he cant wait, so he has its cigar. Ambition doesnt fret him; cab or glory´s car, are just tthe same, so he has his cigar. He is sure at home, because he has his cigar, he doesnt seek for fame, a general with a scar, he only wants to be private, so he has his cigar. To have his choice among, the toys lifes bazaar, the deuce may take them all, so he has his cigar, some minds are often tost, by tempests like a tar; he will always seem in a port, so he has hi cigar.the ardent flame of love, his bosom cannot char, he smokes but do not burn, he will always h
