Misty Mornings

Gently falling oil

Grace the Earth below, 

Sink into rich dark soil,

Help green things grow.

Your touch, soft and silken

Smoothly slipping down sleek skin, 

A warm and wet embrace, 

Sweeter than hugging my own kin.

Creating a crescendo, tapping on tin roofs,

A lullaby of celebration,

I hear your sweet, gentle sound,

I can’t help but leap in elation. 

Your scent arrives before,

Earthy aroma tainted air,

A promise for a storm 

More exciting than a carnival fair.

Although the epitome of gracious generosity, 

There is a cruelness about your ways:

Sandy Sahara soil never sees the end to your wickedness, 

While the Amazon sees nothing but your altruistic praise.

Your presence is rarely constant,

Fleeting like darkness with the coming dawn, 

But every time you make yourself known

Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn.

From now until the day I die,

My love for you will never fade, 

I’ll still enjoy splashing in puddles,

And watching dew form on every grass blade. 

I’ll marvel at your beauty, 

While tasting your very essence 

And will get excited to see you 

Even into my late adolescence. 

Even when I’m old and gray,

I will dance beneath you, 

Watching a rainbow form above, 

Reveling at the view.