I bought myself an umbrella

From the shop just down the street.

I didn’t think anyone else wanted it,

But I thought it rather sweet.

It was once bright red, but now like rust,

With a spoke, bent and rusting too.

And to the right, above my head,

There was a hole for the rain to fall through.

When I bought myself this umbrella,

The shop owner repressed a smile.

“I can’t imagine why you’d want it,” said he,

“It’s been knocking around for a while.”

“Because it smells like stories,” I replied,

“And of books that have never been read.

“And I believe whatever the weather,

“That’s something I’d want above my head.”

The man gave a shrug and took my change,

And he offered me a bag.

“To protect your hair in the storm outside,” he claimed,

“It’s better than that rag.”

I thanked him politely but declined,

And opened the umbrella once I’d left his space.

It made me smile as the stories fell

Like raindrops on my face.

Poppy Hollingworth on Twitter
Poppy Hollingworth
Poppy Hollingworth

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