Oh, Sweet Petrichor
Oh, sweet petrichor from thy heroic fallings
from the aerowaters dipped in honey and exotic herbs,
the ambrosial rains manufactured by the lower heavens,
thy tears of the corporal spirits that drift with the winds
aimed at the parched corn fields and meadows
from thy fallings that splatter upon the crusted earth,
thy sweet aroma of life is regenerated,
and life is restored as it was before,
when it was before the beast
dried up the forests and meadows
as he drank up all the waters and starved the greens,
spreading his fires from the inferno pits
over the lands as far as he could reach,
rebelling against the normalcy of the
motion of the wind and clouds,
battling with the normal climes in rebellion
to life and how it regenerates itself.
But after growing tired of his constant battling,
he yields to the pleas of the starving fields
that cry out in thirst and riles up the Gods,
begging them to come again like they did last month,
cursing at them for abandoning them
for such a long time,
longing for the aroma of the sweet petrichor
to saturate the lungs and soothe the taste buds.
Oh, sweet petrichor, how thy air smells to me,
how my spirit jumps up and dances with thee,
how you’ve come with your
exhilarating perfumes about you,
your tears that mingle with my tears
and your spirit that overcame the devil’s wrongdoings
and filled my lungs with the scent of heaven.
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