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.


    Yours Faithfully,


    Cannabis Sativa,