Drops on Cloth

I can smell the rain
pouncing on the skin of the earth
Quietly supplicating
Losing itself
Changing form
Errant children of the storm
Entering the fabric of reality
Leaving a wet blotch
In the place
Where it fell from grace
Entombed momentarily
Absorbed where possible
Rolling off the rest
Lacking in capacity
To reverse its descent

(dedicated to one wee little raindrop)