After a long time
there was a drizzle last night—
a fascinating petrichor,
a rhythmic whisper
as the drops cleaned the surfaces
of the leaves.
The morning sun
was caressing the green.
Had the leaves dressed up
for the sun's arrival?
Was the drizzle invited
for this quiet preparation?
I found myself
drowned in happiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem