Dill

Green thoughts of a growing thing Frilled from soil to laced and yellow umbel Merriment in every stem and sprig Although at root 'tis a simple herb and humble Uplifted by adding to the dish White wine and cream and gently browned chanterelles Poured o'er fillets of sweet and fresh-caught fish Gladdened beyond its lonesome falderal It cuts through happy, sour, crunching brine And sits among eggs like a nesting hen It smells of warm earth where it finds its spine And so rooted all else can then begin