Lavandula sways as the gentle zephyr blows
The purple spikes like spires kissing the skies.
Once a child of mountain terrains,
Now in gardens, its grace remains.
Its scent once wafted through mountain air,
Now graced in potions, perfumes, beauty’s care.
The purple spires, a bee’s delight,
Harvesting nectar through day and night.
Lavandula rises at dawn, slender stems take flight,
Calyxes veiled in violet, kissed by light.
Corollas unfurl, a purple embrace,
Its sweet aroma fills the space.
A soothing balm, an elixir of care,
Healing hearts with a scent so rare.
Dear purple blooms, the silent teacher—
Blooming with grace, your timeless feature.
You teach us all, no storm can sever
The will to rise and bloom forever.
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