I see frosted purple tips with a deep indigo center

Bundled beads that mother nature so delicately sewed together

Slim and thin is what they may be

But I see an ingredient to an herbal remedy

I touch the remedy that must be gently picked

Delicate and full of life, treated like a relict 

Placed in the bowl to be crushed

Given to those who are seen as flushed

I hear the pop of the indigo beads

Stone on stone clash as the sick plead

An ancient recipe that will grant

The grinder turns them into shards of the plant

I smell the flower that possesses many scents

The calmness the herb grants makes one content

Delicate and floral spurs the nose

The flushness of one's cheeks dissipates and glows

I taste the gentle herb on my tongue

A memorable, minty taste of when I was young

A taste offered to those who are sick

All from lavender that I picked