"You are perfect." You say
It doesn't mean a thing.
The drops from the sky are perfect, too
Each are proportionate
Creating a perfectly timed beat
On the sidewalk.
I'll never be first; I'll never be last‐
To never compare is the raindrop,
Whose sacred body sprouts something
More lovely than itself.
Praising the pigmented kaleidoscope of vegetation,
Ignoring the cries of "I did this!"
Its presence reminding us of the pedaled beauty of it's past
Tell the rain it's perfect,
Let's see what it says when it knows