Each drop on its own doesn't move me.
But as these raindrops collect
they form puffy clouds
full of potential.
Getting bigger and denser and then
On the paper as I hold my pen.
First a trickle down the page,
...then a torrent.
Non-stop the words flow from my pen
till my raindrops ebb at the margins,
...I am drained.
My poem is written and the paper satisfied
till the next rainstorm comes.