By Joshua Ota Arnold

In quite corners where embers glow,
A pipe is lit, and wisdom flows.
With fragrant clouds that softly rise,
We ponder deep beneath the skies.

The crackling wood, the smoky scent,
In quiet peace, our minds are bent.
On thing above, not seen but known,
Where truth and grace and love are sown.

Among good friends, we sit in peace,
Discussing faith that will not cease.
Of Christ the King, His sacrifice,
Of love that paid the highest price.

The pipe’s a tool, a humble thing,
Yet it can make the spirit sing.
For in the puff and soft exhale,
We talk of things that never fail.

We speak of joy and sanctity,
Of Christ who died to set us free.
Of how we walk this narrow way,
And find His mercies new each day.

With every pull, the bowl burns low,
Yet in our hearts, the fires grow.
For in this time, in smoke and word,
The voice of Christ is softly heard.

So light the pipe, and lift your soul,
With friends who help to make you whole.
For in this fellowship, we find,
The beauty of a kindred mind.