In weed we trust,
Colonials called it weed,
Imperials named it marijuana, To locals, it was just another plant.
Time of breathing in and out, A kettle whistles of ash smoke, Puffing off the worries of the day.
Smoked, boiled, cooked,
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All inhaled for a digestive purpose;
A brother is cannabis,
A sister too, that relaxes an overworked mind.
Its touches and flows,
Opening the mind to great soliloquy,
If well put into use,
Nothing is more pretentious than its fear.
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