Beneath the ground, your scented rhizome
Prized throughout the human centuries,
Sweet dreams of rainbows and vaulted domes
Awakening old violet memories.
Your ancestors were carved into beads
Used by cloistered folk to count prayers
To absolve a prince’s crass misdeeds
Engaged in important state affairs.
Yet, once of Isis you reminded us,
A Goddess of the lunar seasons;
Of abundance we were desirous,
We’d pray to you for selfish reasons.
Your roots are still prized for rare perfumes;
Many are transfixed by your soft blooms.