Thyme

Thyme

It is a labor

time spent with food.

On days of anger

frustration builds

and small things found

are solace to

that creep of danger

up the spine and

back.

Something finite

creates a symbol

of problems solved

and ease in strain.

The labor abides

(but there is always more),

but the task in mind

is small and done.

So labor rests

now just a chore

and the task at hand,

done with less stress.

‘Stem the Thyme.’

Chef said to me,

and so I did;

silently and with little

said.