The first drop falls, a gentle grace, A whisper soft on Earth's embrace. The scent-oh, that seent!-of warming ground, Where memories sleep, now gently found.

A classroom window, eyes afar, The sky unfolds like a waking star. Before the rain, that sacred smell, Only kind hearts can truly tell.

Tea in hand, and pakora's warm, Laughter dancing through the storm. More than moments, more than time, It felt like love, pure and prime.

Oh first rain, you make me whole-You don't just touch skin, you stir the soul. A joy so raw, so deeply true, Each drop a poem, written anew.