Players
I send thee cigarettes for thy delight.
Smoke my belov’d and think awhile of one
Who thinks and dreams of thee from sun to sun
Longing to have thee, lov’d one, in his sight;
To hold to his thy lissom body tight;
To press thy lips and, pressing, to surprise
Thy soul and his together in thine eyes …
If this be wrong, no love on earth is right!

By Edmund John
Schoolmaster and Poet (1883-1917)