Chamomile Poem

Die Kraft, das Weh im Leib zu stillen,
verlieh der Schöpfer den Kamillen.
Sie blühn und warten unverzagt
auf jemand, den das Bauchweh plagt.
Der Mensch jedoch in seiner Pein
glaubt nicht an das, was allgemein
zu haben ist. Er schreit nach Pillen.
Verschont mich, sagt er, mit Kamillen,
um Gotteswillen.

Translation Attempt by me:

The power tummy's pain to heal
The Maker gave to Chamomile
They blossom and wait undismayed
For someone who needs tummy aid
The humans though in their own pain
Do not believe that the mundane
Can cure. They shout for pills -
Spare me, they say, with chamomile,
for heaven's sake.

Alternative Translation (Raymond Rowe):

When god, our lord, made chamomile
He lent it power to ease and heal
That simple flower in patience waits
For someone with a stomach-ache
But pain-racked man, that silly race,
Puts no faith in commonplace,
But calls for pills, says,
"Goodness me,
physician spare me with your tea.

Karl Heinrich Waggerl (Heiteres Herbarium)