When your teary storms roll in and you're out in the cold, look over your left shoulder.

My umbrella is wide enough for two, and yields the shelter and comfort you need.

My grandmother's closet is where I found it, smooth pearl handle, ***** petals, with black lace trim.

It smells of women's perfume, the kind you'd wear to a parlor for a "pick me up" drink.

She'd walk and twirl it as she casually made her way to a shaded porch. Waiting for her lover to meet her and summons her forth.

But now, those who cry a river, buckets actually, that yield no return, seek shelter under my useful umbrella.