The Smell of Rain

The Smell of Rain


It’s raining again.

Turning the street into a window,

Where you can see

The mirror world,

Just beneath its surface,

If you look carefully,

Between the pebbles of light.


It’s raining again.

Unfading the color of the world.

The grey sky.


Behind the pink plumb tree petals,

The red of rocks,

And greenierness

Of the grass,

As it desperately

Gulps the rain.


It’s raining again.

So perfectly picturesque,

That I wish I could take

A photograph.

But, then the lens

Would get wet.

So I’ll just have to breathe it all into

A memory,

And catalogue it under

“the smell of rain.”



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