Rosemary roots at the garden gate
Thick and wild
Woody scented needles
Look to faraway eyes like barbed weapons
Standing guard
Ready to wound any who cross the threshold
Spearing and splintering
But the docile guardian
With tall soft, oily sprigs
Simply begs to be pet
Affection and a sign of peace
By a welcome hand extended
Brushing fingers through the fragrant stems
That infuse the skin evergreen
Hours rich with the lingering perfume
Of remembrance
E.A. O'Connell
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