Thyme Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Thyme

With the thyme came to mind
History of civil of the Nile
And Romans and Iran

I smile at the thoughts
Featherless and flights
To unseen past of might

Just a name and of a veg
Takes me back to old age
What they did; and/or made

There was no perfume
As we see now-a-day
In package and bottle

But they loved aroma
Gathered fruits, fresh-ripe
And the herbs in the bulk

Then dried, roasted, burned
Scattered; and they turned
The scent made by smoke

Now I'll use in my soup
Want to know its effect
In my tummy; and brain

Still I remember
Espand of my mother
And women of Hormuz
‘Taking round the smoke'