Petrichor

I never saw the rain,

But I felt it.

I never heard the rain,

But I smelled it.

 

For weeks and week

The empty creeks

Were as dry as a mouth

Full of old cake.

The emerald grass

No longer shined

The trees

Their leaves

Turned their back

Upon the breeze.

Until the day

A dark cloud loomed

Over a Mountain

In the mood

“For a drink,

A kitchen sink

Would be just fine!”

She cooed.

 

The temperature plummeted.

The fierce cloud summited.

The daises stood up tall.

The leaves, they turned inverted.

The thirsty ground applauded

As the rain began to fall.

The crushed and broken

Sighed with sweet relief.

The dust began to soar.

The brown and blackened

Turned yellow and green,

And I could smell the Petrichor.

 

“Petrichor!”

I come awake.

The smell of earth;

The smell of rain;

Of spring and summers past;

Of Red River holidays

and of rain that never lasts.

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