A man remembers how long it has been since he felt rain on bare skin, and then decides to do something about it. The speaker recalls a childhood where his mother would have scolded him for it, and a beach where he felt shy and self-conscious. Now, on a high terrace where no one can see him, a summer storm gathers, and he lets his lungi fall and stands in the downpour.
The mood moves from wistful and slightly embarrassed to joyful and free. The storm is written with energy: pellets of rain, thunder, sheets of water, and the repeated "it rained, it rained, it rained!" The trees, doves and wind become his friends, dancing, giggling and laughing along with him, so his nakedness feels natural rather than shameful. The closing line, "At nearly fifty, maybe I should know better," is a wry, self-teasing shrug. He admits how silly it might look, but the poem makes clear he isn't sorry.