The young umbrellas spinning and twirling
Waterproof; not one drop of uncertainty or chilling depressed downpour gets in
The young and facile dumping externally that which contradicts optimism, energy
The reports are not very clear
The only thing they are clear on is that they are not very pleasant
Forecasts of gloom by those with gloomy natures
Self-fulfilled premonitions by those for whom youth was an underappreciated burden
The young umbrellas opening and closing
Flashing colourful code, grist for the mill of the conspiracy minded
Like a well produced advertisement, an MGM dance number
This dance number feels like it will have no end
The young umbrellas with dual use urgency
For a very sunny day "I don't want to become black"
Race the ozone layer for an aging booby prize
You wouldn't like who you were then very much now
But when it ends and your umbrella's supports break and the fabric tears and the holes let the rain in
You will move slower looking for shelter
With some trouble, pull back the days of a color spectrum
Look into the past, find a suitable covering there
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem