At four and twenty, the clock doth chime,
A sacred hour, a whimsical rhyme.
Gather ‘round friends, spirits soaring high,
With faithful companions, we’ll touch the sky.
First comes the ritual, the puff and the pass,
Like ancient sages with their chalice of grass.
We spark up the joy, a sweet burning dance,
As giggles erupt like a well-timed prank.
The munchies awaken, with cravings so bold,
In quest of the snacks, our stories unfold.
A fridge hunt begins, like a treasure quest bold,
Who’s stealing my chips? It’s a tale to be told!
Between clouds of laughter, we float like a breeze,
With tales that get sillier, to our own expertise.
We ponder life’s mysteries, like, “What if cats could talk?”
Or, “Are hotdogs sandwiches? Let’s have a hot walk!”
The clock strikes 4:21, our time’s running out,
But fear not, dear friends, let’s not shed a doubt.
For every day’s 4:20 when friendship’s the core,
So lift up your bowls, and forever explore!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
