tiny, wet, stinging,
Her parched skin revolted,
in spasms, short and quick.
Then, there was another,
And a wayward one more,
Her nails dig in her palms,
Of pain, she would not bother.
The drizzle gave way to shower,
And then, rain, ruthless and fierce,
Her clothes clung to her pale skin,
Head sunk, her feet knelt lower.
Then something inside, deep,
Exploded through her eyes,
The rain would soak her no more,
As tears would run, streak, creep.
This poem has been written as part of IndiBlogger's "The Surf Excel Matic #SoakNoMore Contest".