At four twenty, the clock starts to chime,
A sacred hour, revered by the stoned,
With bongs and wraps, we engage in our crime,
A ritual dance that the couch has condoned.
We gather in circles, like druids of green,
With snacks piled high, like a feast for the gods,
As we prepare to embrace the serene,
In laughter and munchies, our laughter will nod.
With lighter in hand, we ignite joy's flame,
A puff here, a puff there, our sorrows release,
In this hazy bliss, we forget the shame,
Explaining our thoughts—like a puzzle, a piece!
So here’s to the hour, may it always be bright,
In the land of the lifted, let’s revel in light!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
