Aromatherapy

Night
washed to new-slate-gleam
by driving rain,
the air this morning
whistle clean and shining
like a schoolboy’s face.

No moon,
no stars, no breaking sun;
the clock says night is done,
the sky is undecided.
Trees, bare-branched and brave,
crave raindrops
like royalty craves gems.

Each blade of grass,
each limb, wears diadems
of diamonds.
Scents of morning
swathe the day with energy:
Aromatherapy

7 thoughts on “Aromatherapy

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