She stood there in the rain,
Inhaling deep.
Sensing every drop,
Quivering with its leap.

She looked up, up to the sky,
To see where from the clouds on high
Did the drops escape?
But everything was dark,
And the unknown took to allure,
And tickled her nostrils softly,
The lingering Petrichor.

She wandered wild,
Her mortal part drenched.
With a smile mild,
And her teeth clenched,
The cold of the rain
Bore into her more,
So to inhale the warmth
She inhaled the Petrichor.

The rain was mystical,
Unceasing but merry.
Dangling drops from the tree,
Like diamonds so real,
But nothing to her felt appeasing more
Than the shower and the incredible Petrichor.

Shramona Mukherjee

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