From Himalayan heights, a treasure so rare,
Spikenard, the nard, with a fragrance to share.
Not honeysuckle’s kin, though its name may mislead,
In valerian’s family, a secret it seeds.

Roots like hairy spikes, a hidden delight,
Crushed and distilled, an essence takes flight.
Amber and earthy, a musky embrace,
In temples of old, a sacred space.

Legends whisper of Mary’s anointing deed,
A precious perfume, a love-filled seed.
Cleopatra’s baths, it surely did grace,
A symbol of wealth, a queen’s treasured embrace.

Modern science, a cautious decree,
Anti-inflammatory whispers, a glimpse you can see.
Calming and soothing, for nerves frayed and sore,
A promise of comfort, what could we ask for?

So next time you see it, this essence so grand,
Remember its journey, from mountain to hand.
A gift from the earth, a history untold,
Spikenard’s rich fragrance, more precious than gold.