Casualites of the politics of policy

all is dark, and then, a spark. plumes of smoke rise out of the amber, and billow forth from the crafted pipe, lips curl to cradle the fragile, the slender, powerless against the fragrant entice, in gentle action and loving form. like the mother caressing a new born. the odourous, melodious exchange takes place, earthly pleasure brings a smile to the face of the latest suitor, who may think he'll woo her and be able to control the nature of the thing for which he is ill-prepared to understand like so many before, now hand in hand. in disconsolate mourning, for they're fractured thought, in numbness of feeling, forever hard fought. now before it's even begun, their race is run, though they'll try in vain, those brash young guns who fell for her smile, in sweet refrain. Please give a hand for miss Mary-Jane.