The rain, and after

She'd sky-dive with succulent drops,
frolic upon leaves of a rare foliage
and plop into a puddle.

She yearns to flirt with a young Nimbus,
get drifted by a stubborn wind
to unoccupied isles.

She'd compose a symphony for the dripping moments.

When the curtain lifts, the haze clears,
she watches her dream-globules evanesce
like rain-dots on warm sands.

One green tree frog warbles,
a wasp spider limps out of its secrecy
and starts to weave a labyrinth of sun-rays.

A tune jingles inside her.