I watch a beauty, letting water,
Run its course upon her face.
One by one, more raindrops follow,
Losing size, in giving chase.

Were I the rain, I’d do the same,
Was I given half a chance.
At the risk that I’d fall vainly,
From umbrellas, with a glance.

But if I dropped upon her presence,
Hardly would I think to cease,
Gladly, I would be diminished,
Just to touch, then be at peace.

Bryson Thomas