rosemary’s locks

her claws cling to crested cliff
she lets out neither cry nor sniff
yet her darling fragrance do i whiff

hanging purple blossomed rosemary
dangling from nook and cranny
shivers in the winter wind

her pleasant pungent twang
reminds me of carols we sang
round evergreens broad and grand

here the land wears no such fir
can’t confer with a quorum of conifer
yet brave rosemary makes her stand

how she survives this arid land
defiantly daring the barren edge
a clear case of herbs gone wild

herbiferous fate kept me up late
the day i found her gangly locks
missing from amidst the flocks

happenstance had borne the lance
that trimmed her darling dreadlocks
whence they went took but a glance

hewn with a gnarly sword for heath
upon my door that for whom i cried
had been trimmed to craft a wreath

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About Brad Werner

Technical Evangelist
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