Atop my cigar stood
a powerful city,
one made (unfortunately)
out of paper and mere tobacco.
The owner struck a match
and created a city
filled with little people
with little families,
and little ambitions.
The city thrived,
but the walls changed
as the owner shook the ash
from the end
and some neighbors
were never to be seen again.
But the city constantly
shrunk,
and soon it would be
nothing more
than a smoldering city
in a pile of ash.