Beneath the Dog Nettle

Wash. Cleanse. Clean.

You should glimmer and glean.

Glisten and sheen.

Stand for others to preen.

Don’t be too mean.

You mustn’t lean.

My hands brush the metal, and my nerves begin to settle.

Because I have collected the final rose petal.

Jeweled hands brush the tea kettle.

My worries rest now beneath the dog nettle.

Written by Minerva Violet