"Ahem"... ::Birgit steps up with a ridiculously large daisy in her hand
and bows:: (10 extra points if you're old enough to get *that* reference...)

A poem, by Birgit Mueller

I do not like thee, Noranti;
I do not like thy herbal tea.
I do not like thy little pills
That would not truly *cure* my ills.
I do not like thy dust so strange
That Crichton's thoughts do rearrange,
Or potions mixed, regurgitative,
Or purgings restoritative.
I do not like thy pods inhaled
That help keep Crichton's feelings jailed.
I do not like thee, called a healer,
On earth merely a drug dealer.
Simply, simply, Noranti,
I do not like thee, nor thy tea.

-Birgit