In haze of green, my thoughts begin to roam,
A couch-bound sage, I ponder my next snack,
Yet find I'm lost, no clue where I call home.
With chip crumbs stuck to my one-eyed dome,
I swear I’ll clean this mess with no turn-back,
In haze of green, my thoughts begin to roam.
My phone’s a portal, but it might as well be chrome,
As I forget the calling of my buddy Jack,
Yet find I’m lost, no clue where I call home.
I seek the truth in every puff and foam,
While my fridge stands guard ready to attack,
In haze of green, my thoughts begin to roam.
With mindlike jelly, ideas just won’t comb,
Philosophy? More like a mindless clack;
Yet find I’m lost, no clue where I call home.
So here's to stoners and our stony poem,
The joys, the giggles, and the tasty snack,
In haze of green, my thoughts begin to roam,
Yet find I'm lost, no clue where I call home.
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
