I celebrated my birthday this week and was surprised by my 15 year old nephew with the following poem. I also received a pipe (a Caminetto, rusticated,full bent) but the poem trumps it all.
Uncle Mike
Has many pipes
Every day a different type
Different look
Different feel
So many that you have to wonder if they are all real
Enough to smoke for a year straight
Some may say it is his fate
Knows all there is to know about them
From the bowl to the stem
Each one has a different scent
Tobacco of the past
Smoked until the last
Each with a history of its own
Keeps most at his home
Each unique in its own special way
Especially the ones he buys used, on eBay














Vary good!



