The Sitch.

There is a smell;

An odour which is most unpleasant

To my nostrils.

   

There is a vision;

Smokey rings wafting through the air

The image coming through the pupil of my eye.

  

There is a sound;

The intake of breath and a slow exhale 

Produce wavelengths that reach my ears.

  

There is a touch;

By a little one who has also sensed the same

As she reaches out for my hand.

  

There is an understanding;

Putting together the pieces, we finally comprehend

The situation.

    

We walk away to find a place with no smell,

A place free of smokers for us to dwell. 

  

The End

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