Iqmik

In Alaska's land, where the snowflakes fall, Lives a special tradition, loved by all. Iqmik they call it, a tobacco so fine, Made with ash and tobacco, a blend so divine. Native Americans, with pride in their heart, Pass down this tradition, right from the start. Blackbull they whisper, a name so grand, A smokeless delight, cherished in this land. The ash of Phellinus igniarius, oh so rare, Is mixed with tobacco, with utmost care. Punk ash they use, a magical touch, Creating Iqmik, loved so much. No smoke to inhale, no need to blow, Iqmik brings pleasure, without a woe. A pinch in the cheek, a taste so bold, A tradition cherished, a story to be told. So let's celebrate Iqmik, this Alaskan treasure, A part of their culture, a source of great pleasure. But remember, dear children, it's not for you, For tobacco's not meant for little ones like you. Random page: AJ+