Dawn cuts dew from the leaf and stem, I take what’s offered, not condemn. Root and resin, bark and bloom, Every cure carries a wound. I don’t rush what the soil knows, Power grows slow… slow. Too much mercy kills as clean As poison brewed without discipline. Balance isn’t kind or cruel, It’s measured truth in mortar rules… Grind it fine, let it steep What I make wakes or puts to sleep. Dose decides who stands or falls, Life lives thin in vial and draw. I don’t cast, I compound skill, Nature answers those who will. Every draught a chosen path, Every cure remembers wrath. Green turns black when boiled too long, Petals lie when dried out wrong. I’ve seen faith fail, I’ve seen steel snap, But timing turns the tide of that. Antitoxin in my sleeve, Tonic brewed for when you bleed. You swing wide… I stay exact, Reaction beats the boldest act. Guesswork buries bodies deep, I trust the notes I always keep… Grind it fine, let it steep Bitter truth makes liars weep. Enhance the strong, dissolve the cruel, Every brew obeys its rule. I don’t pray, I calculate, Herbs don’t judge, they concentrate. Drink with hope or drink with fear, The plant decides what happens here. Low flame. No boil. Count the drops. Wait. Now strain. They call me healer, call me witch, Depends which vial you choose to pitch. The forest taught me compromise, Everything survives on sacrifice. If the body breaks, I mend the seam, If the enemy swells, I thin the stream. Growth and rot share one design, I just decide the time. Nature doesn’t take a side, It answers those who read the signs… Grind it fine, let it steep What I make runs bone-deep. From antidote to venom drawn, Same green truth, different dawn. Call it mercy, call it sin, Depends what dose you’re taking in. When steel fails and spells collapse, The leaf remembers what it has. Potions. Poisons. Healing, death. A measure of green, Wins the battle.
