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Feb 2019
As I walk alone to my car
and the raindrops kiss me
I wonder where they've been.
Was the drop that just hit my shoulder
the same drop that visited a soldier in afghanistan on a rare rainy day?
was the bead running down my cheek an accomplice
in the baptism of a believer?
are the molecules beneath my feet the same ones
that saved someone who was once inches from death?
Brooklynn Rogers
Written by
Brooklynn Rogers  19/F/United States
(19/F/United States)   
177
   PoetryJournal
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