The Queen's Crystal Jar

I didn't write this poem for April.

The deepest, darkest lavender

That I have ever seen

Grows in the flower garden of

The Purple Blossom Queen.

She plucks its petals every morn

To strew along her path.

She wrings its oil every eve

To sprinkle in her bath.

She dried its leaves for pot-pourri

To freshen every room,

And combined it with summer air

To make her best perfume.

She sewed its scent into a sword

With shining silver string,

And for Christmas she gave it to

The Purple Blossom King.

Yet best of all her honey bees

Fill up her crystal jar

With glossy golden honey made

From nought but lavender.