• Each one falls and makes its own impact on the world.
    It does its job how it is supposed to.
    The drops cascade in falling sheets and make it hard to breathe.
    The beauty and simplicity is here to stay.
    Even once the rain has gone away.
    But it is never truly gone.
    For in our bodies it carries on.
    The sweet water that makes us go.
    The water from so long ago.
    We can't simply stop and stare.
    We can't see what is really there.
    The world from beginning to end.
    In a splendid sonata of tiny drops,
    Upon plain buildings roof tops.
    The splendor of a trillion years.
    Can be heard ringing in your ears.
    Listen as it comes to you.
    It tells you all it knows.
    Every secret it has held.
    Every story it has felt.
    You see them fall as we scurry.
    To busy to stop and worry.
    What say you when you can't find.
    That special word to use and rhyme.
    We think of the things that take our breathe.
    And make us emotionless.
    The rain falls and each drop, too.
    Has it's own job to do.
    To cleanse this world of it's sin.
    To cleanse us all.
    From begging to end.