In a quiet room where shadows play,
I reached for comfort at the end of day.
My pipe, my solace, my trusted friend,
Had vanished, its presence at an end.

It rested often by the window's light,
Its wooden bowl gleaming in the night.
But now it’s gone, with no trace found,
Leaving silence where once was sound.

I searched the corners of my space,
Looked under books and every place.
Yet the pipe, with memories intertwined,
Eluded my grasp, my peace declined.
Perhaps it slipped between the floor,
Or hid behind a hidden door.
I pondered where it might have roamed,
In dreams or tales, in spaces unowned.

Oh, pipe of mine, with smoke so sweet,
Your absence makes my heart skip a beat.
For in your loss, I find a part of me,
Yearning for moments that used to be.

So here I sit, in quiet despair,
Wishing for the times we used to share.
A humble pipe, a simple thing,
Yet it feels like losing everything.