Yes, I Know It's Called 'Petrichor'

Yes, I Know It’s Called ‘Petrichor’

The clouds have wept and left their trace,
A silver hush upon the chase,
And from the thirsty, cracked earth’s breast
A fragrant sigh is now expressed.

It rises slow, a verdant sigh,
Where dust and stone in quiet lie,
A bouquet of stone and leaf,
The earth’s own quiet, sweet belief.

I breathe it deep, the world anew,
Each inhalation feels like dew,
Reminding me of childhood days,
When puddles mirrored sunlit haze.

No perfume bought, no bottle’s art,
Just nature’s quiet, humble heart,
That whispers, “Life returns again,”
In every drop, in every grain.

So when the rain has kissed the ground,
I close my eyes, I breathe the sound
Of petrichor—yes, I know its name—
And thank the sky for sweet reclaim.