Her Bath

Nature sinks down into her creation,
The rain chilling her bare frame
As she revels in her morning bath. 
It is as private as it can possibly be,
Mother to all and her youngest in constant need
Which prevents her from stealing away
Below a warm, bubbly tub of water.
As the storm rises around her,
She pours in oils of the most earthen scents
In hopes to leave the stress behind 
In this long, heavy shower.
Void of thunder and lightning,
She listens to the beating against the ground
The individually gentle raindrops create
Before inching deeper within her bath.