(Shash, 11, writes an intriguing poem about the time when one gets soaked in heavy rain)

As it pours on my face,
It shimmers slyly,
As slyly as a fox.

You never know,
When it may start dripping,
From the high clouds above,
As it thunders and booms,
As if it is an angry God,
Louder than a lion’s roar,
The book you are reading,
Suddenly becomes damp.

You run and run,
But you still get wet,
Your shoes,
Your socks,
Shirt,
Trousers,
are all soaked to their death.

A storm’s churning up there,
You know it well,
The umbrella you take out,
Gets scared; blows away,
As lightly as a feather,
Surfing in the breeze,
Alas you reach home,
Dripping, soaking, drying, changing, blowing, heavy breathing,
The next thing you know,
You’re in bed,
Fast asleep.