The sweet smell of freedom, follows us round,
gives real satisfaction, as it spreads and is found,
a hot day when light winds bring rhyme, music and sound,
apple blossom, tea just opened, coffee just ground.
Newly split wood in a copse, the smell of a gardeners leafy bonfire,
sinsimillia's pungency drifting in the air, lifting us higher,
petrol, creasote on wooden fences, the warm touch of lovers,
freshly mowed grass, scented inspiration, raining down in showers.
The smell of sea, clear and salty, drawing you close,
freshly baked bread rising, in the hedgerow a rambling rose,
strawberries and ice cream, the underside of turf,
passion awakening senses under cloudbursts surf.
The scent of memory, of absence, reigniting chains of familiarity,
pages turned from old dusty books, alchemical confectionary,
the vapours released in the steams of making love,
the fragrance of rebellion and disobedience, all of the above.
Yes, the air is full of portent avenues, filled with delicious intent,
that allow us to climb, inhale and roar, before arriving at next ascent,
the perfumes of radiance, sailing on white clouds in the breeze,
bouquets filled with essences, elixirs guaranteed to please.
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