The Raindrop
The raindrop is timidly sliding down the glass.
Oh, Lord, for whom are the senses
Of that drop,
That trembles before me, meant?
I wanted to put her in my palm,
But the raindrop
Stopped in fear,
So timid on the window glass,
Looking at a rose,
Whose petals shiver
On the soft, tender lips
Of the warm southern wind.
Yes, Lord, now I know for whom her senses
Are meant.
©Walter William Safar
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