In just three lines, a speaker stands or sits at a grave marked with a red cross and rolls tobacco. That's the whole scene, and the poem says nothing more about who is buried there or how the speaker is connected to them. We have to fill in the gaps ourselves.
The quiet action is what matters. Rolling a cigarette is slow, careful, and done by hand, so it suggests someone taking time, perhaps lingering because they don't know what else to do. It could be a small ritual of remembrance, a way of sharing a habit with the dead, or simply a way of coping with silence. The title, "Smoke," hints at something that rises and vanishes, which echoes how a life can fade.
The mood is still, restrained, and a little sombre. The speaker never says "I'm sad," and that restraint makes the grief feel real. The red cross adds one sharp spot of colour to an otherwise bare scene.