The poem opens with a bold claim: stranger things than true love have happened in America. It then backs that claim up with a catalogue of odd weather, delivered in a calm, almost reporter-like voice. Frogs, toads, salamanders, snakes, worms and fish fall from the sky, followed by peaches and green apples. Each event comes with a place and a year, which makes the list feel like evidence presented in a case.
What the speaker feels is harder to pin down, and that's part of the fun. The deadpan tone suggests amused wonder, but the first line hints at something sadder: if true love ranks as less likely than a rain of toads, it must be very rare. The poem never says this outright. It lets the list do the work.
The mood is quirky, dreamy and a little wistful. The final image, sugar crystals sprinkling down from cotton candy clouds, is the gentlest of all, and it leaves a sweet, hopeful taste after all the strangeness.