Morn, child-like, in scented spell of spring rain
falling slow, charming from coal clouds on high.
First soft shower, shapes senses, drowning pain.
Fresh mix of earth, air, and leaves linger nigh
‘til May raindrops rest like tears from my eye.
Nature’s sweet breath redolent of rebirth
traces time in blossoms and musky earth.
Dawn's spirited fling quenched by misty spring;
Drawn to the dance of fragrant rain in mirth
as billowing sky folds into soft rings.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 11/13/13
for Nette Onclaud's FRAGRANCE OF RAIN