PETRICHOR by J.T.A. Reddy

I dreamed of being strong and rain

that falls wherever the clouds go

Where do the clouds go? 

Not the valleys; where the land ain’t low, 

not the land that I know.

Cos when soaring’s a bore,

the dream would have given up ambition;

that I tell love ‘goodbye,’

would petrichor come for my tears, not just the sky’s —

to fall back down, where flying is unknown

would be a joy and lasting peace

from the loud-mouthed tales of rising rain 

and the clouds that never cease.