Let others meditate on the usefulness
of the common umbrella,
or the poncho,
or the rain jacket,
or the trench coat
to ward off the effects of rain.
Let still others consider
the parasol as protection
from the ill effects of the sun.
But let me contemplate
umbrellas as art,
opened wide as blossoming flowers
in all their colours,
expressing youthful femininity,
untouched shafts extending from their canopies
like stems.
Or like lovers.
Let the umbrellas rise above,
where they cannot poke out
the eyes of innocent passersby,
nor get tangled in the wet hair
of unprepared pedestrians.
Let the umbrellas speak,
that they are more than just umbrellas,
that they are love and hate and all
the emotions, but jealousy most of all.
Gaze upon their beauty,
fear them as weapons,
worship them as protectors,
kneel to them as goddesses.
Do not forget them
when the weather is pleasant.
No, let them always hold a place
in your heart and thoughts
lest they betray you
with a mere gust of the wind.
