Hand me your big black umbrella
Hand me your big black umbrella
I’m walking out and it’s raining.
I won’t be long, a few minutes,
And it will be back in your hands,
Wetter, of course, and colder, too.
I was just thinking the only part of you
An umbrella keeps dry is your head.
That’s good enough,
Enough to keep the tumbling clearness
From blinding me as I walk.
I don't really know why I still like this one but as soon as I wrote it I liked it. I'm fascinated by how water, as clear as it is, can blind us in so many ways. This is another poem about the nature of perception and how the barriers we observe between us and what is can help us see things more rather than less clearly. It's sort of a poem about writing and perception for me, I guess, and it's another hat tip to Frost.
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