An assortment of coloured umbrellas,
Fending off the rain,
I wonder if those, concealed underneath,
Have had lives disturbed by pain,
With the greyness of the sky above,
Their bodies crouching low,
What is the message that greets the eye
Where do all these 'bodies' go,
There's a feeling that they may be hiding
Not only from the rain,
But that is just a 'thought' of mine,
And I could be wrong - again!
©   Ernestine Northover