An Herbalist's Misfortune
by Raeven of Dark Ages
I cannot make you potions,
no matter what you pay.
Nay, I won't go near that glade
no matter what you say.
Picking flowers gives me hives,
I choke and gasp and sneeze.
Just one glance at betony
and I begin to wheeze.
See this scratchy, awful rash
that covers me complete?
I contracted it from herbs,
so I admit defeat.
You say there's a cure for me?
Then tell me, don't delay!
. . . I need to find hydele?
You scoundrel! Go away!
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