Author Frederick Adam Wright What means it, I wonder, the odour of scent That's on your lips always, of cinnamon blent. It's suspicious this perfume whenever we meet: For men always scented don't really smell sweet. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments