Baarish

Rippling cheeks, whistle on lips;
On her lap, some playful dust.
Feathers of cloud, atop her hat;
Made her feet she, brim with lust.

Screaming clouds,
Horizon blushed;
Shutting her eyes,  
She took the fall.

Neither the curious winds,
Nor the fleeting birds;
One with a caring silence,
Speak she will, to grass.