The Rain
The air hangs heavy, thick and still,
A pregnant pause, the world held.
Then, whispers on the breeze begin,
A scent of earth, a cleansing din.
Petrichor, the scent of rain,
A primal joy, a sweet refrain.
Dry dust awakened, soil reborn,
A symphony of life, a hopeful morn.
The first drops fall, a gentle drum,
On thirsty leaves, a soft, wet hum.
Then sheets descend, a steady beat,
A rushing rhythm, strong and sweet.
The world transforms, a verdant hue,
The air is cleansed, the sky anew.
On the skin, it falls, a cool embrace,
A gentle touch, a fleeting grace.
The scent of rain, a memory deep,
Of childhood joys, a tranquil sleep.
A cleansing balm, a promise made,
Of life renewed, a world unafraid.
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