Lavender Vendor

Wild Lavender




THE LAVENDER VENDOR
By Anne Bunner

In the crowded city, the thronging thoroughfare,
Thro' the chill of winter, a fragrance on the air
Faint and fresh of lavender mocks at memory—
Mocks and murmurs softly, "Dreamer, come with me."
"Lavender, sweet lavender," vendor, you should call,
"Purple, perfumed packages with memories for all."
Lavender, sweet lavender, and tired souls are sent
Drifting down the Dream path to the Country of Content.

Subtle scents of lavender thro' the busy street,
Vague, elusive memories, haunting, haunting sweet.
Stealing soft on perfumed wings thro' the moving mass,
White and tired faces brighten as they pass.'

And the crowded city slowly drifts away,
Hushed the noise and clamor of the busy day.
While for a fleeting second, they who dream are blest
With drowsy dreams of lavender and quiet country rest.
"Lavender, sweet lavender," vendor, you should call,
"Purple, perfumed packages with memories for all."
Lavender, sweet lavender, and tired souls are sent
Drifting down the Dream path to the Country of Content.