Poetry written by a Borderline

Cup of Chamomile

A spring day should be bringing me some joy,

but instead, I only feel resentment.

It's rainy and I want to see the koi.

I'll just stay home, water the peppermint.

Jars of my herbal teas line the bookshelves.

There is one I haven't had in a while,

it's not exquisite or made by the elves,

no no, it's just a cup of chamomile.

They grow in my garden with my daisies,

strawberries and raspberries grow as well.

Rosemary and thyme, poppies and pansies,

how many herbs are growing, I can't tell.

I'm faced with so many varieties,

and sometimes it makes my head feel like hell.