She is different,
Never driven by any set pattern,
From inside she is a beautiful soul,
On the turf she is hardly to be discern.

She loves the rain,
But from a distance,
And when she braved sometimes,
She invariably takes the umbrella out,
Not that she is afraid of getting drenched,
Or the mud puddles carving her thoughts to some violent wrench,
It is just that the pitter patter on the umbrella’s sheet,
Is far more soothing than just sitting on some garden bench.

She adores the sun too,
The late afternoon shine,
That warms her blithe,
And cajole her being,
But when she decides to stroll sometimes just out of the blue,
She takes her parasol along for rescue,
Not that she is scared of getting sunburn,
Or likes her sunshade so much…