Drop upon drop slowly falls —
Rain comes like a stranger’s tears,
Falling, then heard by unlistening ears —
Ignoring the storm that grows outside.

Minds closed to passing truth,
Must remain open to observation —
Realizing consequences of each falling drop —
Threatening, yet feeding the land below.

One’s naïveté can only be cured
By slowly passing through the door —
To walk outside and feel the rain,
While not being afraid of getting wet.
Poem Scan