As it flows, dripping, from the skies,
It reveals our true souls.
They say beauty is skin deep.
Perhaps this is so.
Wet hair, plastered on your face,
Loose clothes clinging.
I can see your true form, beneath
All your conceits.
One woman, as petty as her
toy poodle, is frantically
running, running, running.
In the dry, she will walk sedately and elegantly.
Another, a student, walks slowly, hunched.
Under his coat are hidden precious books;
They are safe, so he does not feel his lips
Unburdened, she twirls, tongue outstretched to catch rogue droplets,
Born a child again.
If there lives a man who can remain unexposed in the rain,
Let me meet him, for he must not be human.