Slidig down my face,
They gave a tingling feel.
Their fresh smell of water,
Raindrops slid down a rose's stem,
Then glinted in the sun.
God's jewelry, God's gold,
The raindrop down it run.
I wondered so,
How many raindrops,
Did this thunderstorm brought,
I wondered how many had this question sought.
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Comments about this poem (Raindrops by Vera Sidhwa )
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