I am related to margherita pizza, but I am not red or white. You might think fresh or dried when you think of me.

I am the steed you never tame, Galloping through your still frame. I leave no hoofprints, yet I stay, Haunting thoughts till break of day.

I grow in the garden, yet not on a tree, in a salad or sandwich, I’m often set free. I’m crushed or sliced, but not put in a sweet, I’m plump when I’m ready, savory, and neat.

I bite, yet have no teeth to show, found in green where few will grow. Through drought and heat, I stand with grace, A guarded heart in barren place.

I start with leaves but never grow, I bring warmth when the cold winds blow. I use water, but not from the rain, steeped in patience, I ease your strain.