PEPPERCORN STREET:

Down old dusty Peppercorn Street the old hag goes,

Dressed in her booted black dress, her silver locks flow,

Gathering herbs & spices where beasts move in droves,

Cinnamon, angelica, mace, sage & pretty starred cloves.

With her old bag swaying upon her back cracked bent,

Out at rosy dawn, from the skins of her old homed tent,

Bending & straightening for potions & strong unguents,

Returning after dusk & reeking of green forest scents.

Wending, Mexico & Zanzibar, to Marrakech & Bombay,

Crossing continents, wide oceans & deserts on her way,

Collecting & gathering, all that´s pungent, all that sways,

Down where cold streams trickle & the evil pixies play.

Saffron, paprika, sage, hypericum & old magical thyme,

Cummin, chilli, chopped, steeped & powdered talc fine,

Brown, gold, red, deep greens & tendrils upon the vine,

The old hag has no age & recognises no human time.

Who is the grey hag down dusty old Peppercorn Street?

Coming & going, always busy on her old shuffling feet,

Selling her herbs & spices, hot, bitter, pungent & sweet,

Since the beginning of time, treading her old herbal beat.