Umbrellas Poem by Robert Melliard

Umbrellas



They come in all strengths and sizes;
in high winds only the fittest survive.

Everyone I know loses them frequently
so where do lost umbrellas go?
Someone must have hundreds of them.

Their colours range from dull to blinding -
saying something about their owners?
My father was a commuter
and his umbrella was black.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: rain
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