You Are Not Here!

Rain drops heavily on the dirt
Outside the window.
They each echo hard
back into my head,
but I wonder why I can’t
smell the scent of the fresh rain!

I feel my tears drop hard
on this very white piece of paper.
Yet the echo of them each
hitting the surface of this page
is dim so that
almost nobody can hear.

What good is the rain for,
when you are not here?