The medieval monk trod the monastery’s damp path
towards the garden sprayed with morning dew.
In cold splash-soaked sandals
he went firstly to the herber,
a garden made for pleasure.
Nature’s plants, tamed and controlled,
in a patchwork of variegated green.
Restoringly beautiful, bordered with
sweet smelling basil, sage and rue.
He spoke a few quiet inner words
of godly thoughts in contemplation.
Thankful for his misty morning task,
he headed towards medicinal herbs
spread through sixteen beds,
placed next to the infirmary.
There, available for medical needs,
parsley, mint and fennel from nature’s yield.
Then to pick plants soapwort, self heal, feverfew.
They would soon help to comfort and renew.
He collected rue to purify the air
and pennyroyal to repel fleas in there.
The aroma of a crushed mint leaf
freshened his sense of smell.
He picked a sprig of fragrant rosemary
as he walked back to the monastery.