Falling Down, pooling up,
Out of the sky, into my cup.
What is this wet that comes from above,
That some call disaster, and others find
love.
The harder it falls, the less it is nice,
The colder it falls the harder the ice.
The rain has an art that I may not get,
So I stand still here and get soaking
wet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice piece of work. Thanks for sharing this poem with us. E.K.L.