! ! The Morning Scent Of Rosemary Poem by Michael Shepherd

‘Rosemary – that’s for remembrance..'

Can you smell it now?
that tough yet choosy herb,
giving of itself;

remembrance, perhaps, for Northern Europeans,
of that package tour to Crete:
rising early, that first morning,
the body clock not quite adjusted,

the sun already warming mountain-sides
before it reaches down into the valley;

already, the intoxicating scent of wild herbs
rolling slowly down the hillside, telling you,
this, this, could be paradise..

below you, blue morning sea
beyond white walls of huddled houses..
still in the air, the hint of night-time’s blessed dew..

rosemary: did you think it named
after the fragrance of Mary’s own humility,
mingling with the scent of manger hay?
mingling with the sweetness of that day?

no – ‘ros marinus’, dew of the ocean,
is the meaning of its name…
though, how well it suits her memory..

suits, too, that remembered Cretan morning;
for before the Romans, Indians used those words;
the dew, humidity, rather than humility;
marine, cognate with the words
for the clear, pure light of sun on sea…

that Cretan morning:
the rosemaried fragrance of remembrance;
sunshine and white walls adoring one another;
sky and sea, two shades of Maryblue.