Nettles. A poem by Marg. Brady

Cucooned,
I rambled mindfully through my garden today,
Fresh young green plants beamed up at me.
As beautiful in design as they are venomous to touch.

“Good for your blood” my mother used to say.
In haste I plucked them,
In haste I boiled them
In haste I imbibed them
hoping they will help me
breathe, battle, boot out
the industrious enemy that is
Covid 19.