I listened to this great song half a dozen times for the lyrics and realized he posted them on this song in the below section
I hope he sees this and joins us
I am a outdoors man and usually cringe when a mate pulls out the guitar around the campfire but this champ would be welcome.
He sent me to many a past camp fires with mates reminiscing great past memories and smoking a pipe with,
And you've had your trout and coffee, and
You are man and you are strong,
There is time to right your wrongs.
And you dream of future days;
When you sit close to the fire,
Then the time is surely ripe;
As you smoke your good old pipe.
Brilliant mate
So one day I was researching a hobby of mine... Pipe smoking. Quite unexpectedly I trolled upon a poem by Earle P. Stafford. This fine gentleman spoke of many of my hearts dispositions in a way so utopian I felt there no need to try to replicate it's beauty. I felt as if any such verse of mine would have been but a counterfeit in comparison. And thus arose a splendiferous venture to attach a harmony of comparing beauty. I fear I have failed to do so. But nonetheless... Success or failure, the good old pipe is surely best. The Song of the PipeBy Earle P. Stafford/Jonathon SpaidWhen the night air is shading 'round you,And the lake is lying still;
When you hear the evening tuning,
Of the lonely whippoorwill;
When the woods are big and silent,
And the world seems all at rest;
And the cheerful fire is blazing,
Then your good old pipe is best.
When you are tired our from tramping,
Through the winding forest ways;
And you've had your trout and coffee,
And you dream of future days;
When you sit close to the fire,
Then the time is surely ripe;
With the owl's bark resounding,
To fill up the good old pipe.
Pack your worries in your pipe,
Watch them burn into the night.
You are man and you are strong,
There is time to right your wrongs.
Fiercely love with all your might,
As you smoke your good old pipe.
When the dreary rain is falling,
And the world is wet and gray;
When the loon's long, dismal holler,
Rolls out clear and dies away;
When the woods are all adripping,
From the alder to the oak;
Then just lay back in your chair,
And hit good old pipe, and smoke
I hope he sees this and joins us
I am a outdoors man and usually cringe when a mate pulls out the guitar around the campfire
but this champ would be welcome.He sent me to many a past camp fires with mates reminiscing great past memories and smoking a pipe with,
And you've had your trout and coffee, and
You are man and you are strong,
There is time to right your wrongs.
And you dream of future days;
When you sit close to the fire,
Then the time is surely ripe;
As you smoke your good old pipe.
Brilliant mate
So one day I was researching a hobby of mine... Pipe smoking. Quite unexpectedly I trolled upon a poem by Earle P. Stafford. This fine gentleman spoke of many of my hearts dispositions in a way so utopian I felt there no need to try to replicate it's beauty. I felt as if any such verse of mine would have been but a counterfeit in comparison. And thus arose a splendiferous venture to attach a harmony of comparing beauty. I fear I have failed to do so. But nonetheless... Success or failure, the good old pipe is surely best. The Song of the PipeBy Earle P. Stafford/Jonathon SpaidWhen the night air is shading 'round you,And the lake is lying still;
When you hear the evening tuning,
Of the lonely whippoorwill;
When the woods are big and silent,
And the world seems all at rest;
And the cheerful fire is blazing,
Then your good old pipe is best.
When you are tired our from tramping,
Through the winding forest ways;
And you've had your trout and coffee,
And you dream of future days;
When you sit close to the fire,
Then the time is surely ripe;
With the owl's bark resounding,
To fill up the good old pipe.
Pack your worries in your pipe,
Watch them burn into the night.
You are man and you are strong,
There is time to right your wrongs.
Fiercely love with all your might,
As you smoke your good old pipe.
When the dreary rain is falling,
And the world is wet and gray;
When the loon's long, dismal holler,
Rolls out clear and dies away;
When the woods are all adripping,
From the alder to the oak;
Then just lay back in your chair,
And hit good old pipe, and smoke
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