Chamomile - Poem by Morgan Michaels
I am the mighty chamomile.
Only to you lowly-
ach, it's hot!
rooted, immobile, here,
I've a knack
to spin from sunshine, soil and rain
nothing less fine than a flower,
super-seeding mine own
if that means naught to you
we shall see you yet, the winter come,
sitting foot propped up
sipping rich and steamy,
infusions of me.
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