I watch the rain fall; like tiny waterfalls down my window.
I think to myself how far they must travel, like tiny soldiers coming home from a battle.
Their tired trails leak down before my eye, it's so beautiful I almost cry.
I wonder what happens when they reach the ground; those poor tiny soldiers are never found.
Soak up be the wet and hungry ground to start the cycle again, round and around.
Those poor tiny soldiers are sucked up so quickly: they barley have time to put up a fight. I think how afraid I would be if I were them, now I start to cry; for real this time.
Now I know how they feel, as I watch my own rain fall down from my eyes, like the tiny waterfalls that are happening outside.
